


Intervention

by franscats



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 16:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20951369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franscats/pseuds/franscats
Summary: In a world where sentinels are known, because of their “sensitivities” sentinels in the US are assigned guardians.  The guardians make all the decisions in the partnership including where they work, what they eat, what they can buy, etc.  When Jim Ellison comes online in Peru, the shaman teaches Jim how to hide his senses.  The shaman tells Jim that only his “true guide” will recognize that he is a sentinel.  Then Jim meets Blair Sandburg.





	Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my beta, Regina. She went through the story twice to find all my errors.
> 
> This story can be viewed as pre-slash.

Sitting in the hut, the smoke making his eyes tear, Jim peered at Incacha. “Enquiri,” the Chopec medicine man spoke softly, using Jim’s tribal name, “the spirits have shown me that soon you will leave. You will return to your world and become the Sentinel of the Great City.”

“Incacha, I can’t go back there and become anything,” Jim whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke rising before them. “In the city, sentinels are controlled by guardians. It is not like the Chopec where sentinels work with guides and are respected and full members of the tribe. In the city, sentinels are considered weak, in need of masters. They cannot choose their own destiny within the tribe but must be controlled by their guardians and what their guardians choose to do.” Jim had never spoken to Incacha about sentinels in the US, but he had always known that if he went home he would, in fact, become the ward of a guardian. It was something he would never want. So, though he wanted to go home, at the same time he didn’t.

Incacha nodded his understanding, knowing Jim could see him even in the dim light. Though he knew what Jim said was correct, he could not understand how any tribe would tie the hands of their most powerful members. “Yes," he said, “what you say is true. The spirits have shown it. But I have been told by the spirits that you will find your true guide in the city and you and your true guide will help free other sentinels within the great cities of your homeland. You are strong enough, Enquiri, to bring about the change needed for other sentinels.”

“How can I?” Jim asked in confusion. “The minute they know I am a sentinel, I will be handed over to another who will decide my fate.”

“The spirits have acknowledged your fear,” Incacha reassured with a smile. “They have told me to teach you how to control and hide your senses. You will be able to hide them from all but your true guide. In this way you will know him.” Incacha threw more powder upon the fire, peering into it as even more smoke filled the tent, forcing a cough from Jim. “The warriors from your homeland will come for you in six moons, so there will be time for you to learn the control you need. Tomorrow, I will start to teach you so you will be ready.”

There was nothing Jim could say in answer, so he nodded his agreement before Incacha led him out of the smoke-filled tent.

FIVE YEARS LATER

Detective Jim Ellison paced around the small cell he was currently locked in. “They call this a room,” he scoffed angrily, glancing from the locked door to the bed, the sink and the toilet. Two days earlier, he'd been exposed to some kind of pesticide and his sense of touch had spiked, painfully. The paramedics, seeing the angry welts forming on Jim’s arms, had concluded he was a sentinel having a severe reaction and in need of sentinel care. Finding he didn't have any documentation identifying his guardian, they immediately moved him to the medical wing of Cascade’s Sentinel Care Center, SCC for short.

He'd received treatment for a reaction to a caustic substance and a day later, when he had recovered, he'd been escorted by guards to a “sentinel room” to await evaluation and placement with a guardian. 

Jim knew he needed to relax before facing SCC officials. It was just that the whole SCC thing was aggravating. Assuming he was a sentinel, they were planning to take over his whole life. Sitting down on the bed, Jim closed his eyes, took a deep breath and calmed himself, remembering Incacha’s training. For the last five years he'd hidden his sentinel abilities, using them sparingly and successfully living and working as a detective. That was, until he was chasing down a perp. He'd been hit with some pesticide which resulted in a sensory spike, the reaction threatening his freedom. Taking another deep breath, he did as Incacha had instructed, lowering his senses to normal. He would be tested for sentinel abilities and he would have to test out as normal and insist he had had a major allergic reaction to the pesticide.

When he had calmed enough and felt that his senses were down, he opened his eyes and glanced around. There was nothing of interest in the room and Jim wondered what they expected sentinels to do while awaiting placement. The room was practically soundproof, it was windowless so only artificial light from overhead came through and there was no form of media. 

With nothing better to do, he stretched out on the bed and watched the door. It wasn’t too much later that there was a soft knock and a young man with dark blue eyes and long, curly hair entered. “Sentinel Ellison, I’m Dr. Blair Sandburg,” he said, giving Jim a genuine smile. “I’m sure you are finding this situation difficult but we'll make finding you an appropriate guardian a priority and get you settled as soon as possible,” he continued in a soothing voice.

“Hold it right there,” Jim sat up and glared at the doctor. “I am not a sentinel.”

“Jim,” the doctor glanced over at him noticing the tense body, “may I call you Jim?” he asked, deciding Jim needed careful handling. Somehow, Blair didn’t think this sentinel would take well to a gentle approach. It would be best, he decided, to just deal with Jim in a straight-forward fashion. Jim waved a hand in response to Blair’s question and Blair continued. “You had a sentinel’s reaction to your environment. Your senses have come on line and you are a sentinel but don’t worry, we’ll find you a proper guardian."

“No, Sandburg,” Jim disagreed practically snarling. “I had an allergic reaction, not a sentinel reaction.”

Blair sighed and shook his head. New to the SCC, he'd been told by the administration that newly online sentinels tended to deny their senses, mostly because they hated admitting that they needed the care of a guardian and the idea of a bond scared them. But part of the reason Blair had been hired by the SCC was he had a knack for soothing agitated sentinels – somehow, he always knew when a sentinel was in distress --and he’d never been wrong when he identified someone as a sentinel. Jim Ellison gave off the strongest vibes he had ever felt.

“I believe you are a sentinel,” Blair countered, “and when we finish evaluating your senses, you will see that.”

“Or,” Jim countered glaring at the doctor in a way that usually made suspects cringe, “you’ll see I’m not a sentinel.”

“Not likely, man,” Blair answered, unfazed by Jim’s demeanor or stare. Turning, he glanced around the room. “Can I get you anything while you are here? Some books, magazines?”

Jim shook his head. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow, so, no.”

“Is there anyone you need me to contact?”

“No,” Jim answered, not bothering to hide his impatience with Blair and the situation. “As I’ve already said, I’ll be out tomorrow so there’s no need.”

Blair shook his head and stood. “Your lunch will be here within the hour. Is there anything in particular you would like for dinner?”

“A beer and a couple of Wonderburgers,” Jim answered, and Blair cleared his throat. He was pretty sure Jim would not take well to being told he couldn’t have an alcoholic drink without his guardian’s permission. It was admittedly annoying, but policy, since the SCC wasn’t sure how a sentinel would react to alcohol – and as Jim was newly-online it could affect him badly. Once he was established with a guardian who knew how he would react, well, then, he could if his guardian allowed it.

“I can get you some Wonderburgers, though I have to say that stuff is really bad for you. It's full of fat and-“ he stopped at Jim’s scowl and nodded his agreement. “But I’m afraid no alcohol until you have a guardian and he or she approves it.”

Deciding not to point out he was well over the legal age for drinking, he growled, “Fine, let’s get these tests over with tomorrow so I can go home.”

Blair studied Jim. He'd never met someone so sure he would be rejected as a sentinel. Most newly-online sentinels were nervous, some in pain from spiking senses, and a lot angry about becoming a ward in need of a guardian, but none were annoyed as though they were being put upon. “I’ll have Wonderburger brought in. Are you sure I can’t bring you something to read?”

“No,” Jim indicated Blair should leave and, after a knock on the door, Blair was let out of the room.

…

It was early the next afternoon when the results from Jim’s testing came in. Blair, sitting with the evaluation committee, glanced over the results and his jaw dropped in shock. “This has to be wrong,” he said, his fingers running over the numbers and evaluations: eyesight slightly better than normal, hearing normal, touch slightly enhanced above normal, taste normal, and smell slightly enhanced.

“He’s not a sentinel,” Dr. Anya Villon concluded. “A slightly enhanced sense of touch and smell and better than average sight does not a sentinel make.” 

“This has got to be wrong,” Blair muttered. “The man is a sentinel.”

“Blair, we ran all the tests,” she indicated the numbers.

“He must know some way to fake the results,” Blair challenged. “He’s a sentinel, I can tell.”

“I know you said you sensed he was a sentinel when you were with him but you must be wrong,” Dr. Gordy Graham added with a shrug. “He’s not a sentinel.”

“I think we need to run the tests again,” Blair answered, throwing down the report. “Something is wrong. I want to supervise the testing.” 

The two doctors looked at each other, both knowing Blair would continue to insist Ellison was a sentinel. They had only known Blair for two months but they could already attest to his stubborn nature. “We can tell Detective Ellison the tests were messed up and we will redo them this afternoon but that’s it. If his results are the same, we have to let him go.”

Blair nodded his agreement. “Fine, but I’ll be watching over the testing,” he muttered and the doctors agreed, rising and heading down the hall to the testing center.

It was a very frustrated Blair Sandburg who looked over the tests results late that afternoon. Despite the fact that he had watched the testing and found no fault in the testers or equipment, Jim Ellison had again scored as having mostly normal senses. And, even worse, at the end of the testing, Ellison had given him a smug smile as though he was taunting Blair with his scores. 

“I don’t get it,” Blair complained in frustration. “I know he’s a sentinel.”

The doctors glanced at each other and back at Blair. “We have to release him Blair. We are open to a lawsuit if we don’t.”

“I know,” Blair agreed. “BUT HE IS A SENTINEL,” he insisted, running his hands through his hair in frustration as he tried to figure how Jim had manipulated the tests.

“If you are so sure, figure out how he did it,” Dr. Gordy challenged.

“Maybe I will,” Blair answered thoughtfully before heading over to see Jim and review the results of the testing.

Two hours later, Jim entered his condo and went to the answering machine to pick up his messages. “Hi Jim, I heard you were being evaluated as a sentinel and that you failed the testing.” Jim recognized the voice of his boss, Simon Banks. “I guess that’s the first test you’re glad you failed and so am I. I wouldn’t want to lose one of my detectives.”

“I sure am,” Jim told the machine. 

“So, give me a call when you get home and fill me in.”

Jim nodded as the next message started. “Hello Sentinel Ellison,” Jim frowned, recognizing the voice of the doctor, Blair Sandburg, who insisted he was a sentinel and had supervised the second round of tests. “You know and I know that somehow you faked the tests but, man, it’s not safe for you to be working without the support of a guardian. So, if you do need help, you can call me at-” 

Jim deleted the message, not bothering to listen to the phone number before continuing with the rest of his messages.

Picking up his phone, Jim dialed Simon and they talked, Jim promising he would be in the next day. Hanging up, he walked over to the balcony and looked out across Cascade, silently thanking Incacha for the training that had kept him out of the SCC’s hands.

…

“…so, they tested me and then let me go,” Jim shrugged as he finished telling his colleagues why he had been gone for the last two days. This was his third retelling of his visit to the SCC and he was getting tired of having to explain his absence. He was about to log into his computer when Simon called him. 

“Jim, can you come in here a minute?” 

Turning off his computer, Jim rose and walked into the office where Simon indicated he should take a seat. “You’re not going to like this, Jim. That doctor, Sandburg, has applied for an observer’s ride along pass. He says he wants to evaluate whether it is safe for sentinels to work in the PD.”

“I have news for you Simon, sentinels work in the PD.”

“There are a few in the forensics departments,” Simon conceded, “but not in any other area. This could be a chance to maybe get some in the field.”

“Okay, so…”

“So, he asked to specifically work with you and the Commissioner approved it.”

“Oh come on, Simon. He thinks I’m a sentinel and wants to prove it.”

“I know,” Simon sighed. “And I know he’s a pain, but this is a chance to prove to the SCC that the PD is safe for sentinels. If you would let him follow you around we could maybe get the SCC on our side.” Simon could see Jim was about to complain and held up his hand. “Listen, if he oversteps the line, I’ll pull his pass, but the Commissioner thinks this is really a chance for the PD to get sentinel support and doesn’t want to lose the opportunity. And since he has met you, he specifically asked to work with you, so…” Simon didn’t finish.

“If he starts calling me a sentinel in the PD,” Jim threatened. “I’ll-“

“I’ll stop him from working with you. I will make that clear to him when he comes in,” Simon promised.

“I guess I don’t really have a choice,” Jim answered and Simon nodded.

“He’ll be in doing the paperwork this morning. Just try not to kill him.”

“I’m not making any promises, Sir,” Jim answered rising.

Two hours later, Blair walked out of Simon’s office and stopped in front of Jim’s desk. “Hi Jim,” he greeted, his eyes moving over Jim’s desk, automatically evaluating the space to ensure it was safe for a sentinel.

“Sandburg,” Jim nodded, looking up, his glare anything but friendly.

“I guess I should pull up a chair?”

Jim held up a hand. “First things first, we have some things to discuss.” Standing, he led Blair to an interview room and indicated Blair should sit. Crossing his arms, he glared down at Blair, his ice-blue eyes decidedly unfriendly. “I know Simon told you that you cannot at any point address me as a sentinel. I want us to be clear on this. I am not a sentinel and don’t want to be identified as one.”

“Yeah, I got that speech, man,” Blair said and Jim noted that while Blair was agreeing to not talk about Jim being a sentinel, he wasn’t saying he believed Jim wasn’t a sentinel. 

Deciding he couldn’t hope for better since he really did have heightened senses, he continued. “Good. Secondly, you are an observer. When we are in the field, you are to follow my directions.”

“Okay, I get that, police procedure and all.”

“As long as we’re clear on these things, everything else we can work out as we go along.”

Blair nodded, glancing up at the imposing figure Jim made. The man was gorgeous with a capital G and Blair was pretty certain that Jim could be deadly, but he felt no threat from Jim. If anything, he felt comfortable, even safe, despite the apparent anger. “I will point out that I’m an anthropologist and, as such, am used to investigating scenes so I might be able to help. And I am certified as a guardian. I could help you at crime scenes with your senses,” Blair countered, trying to keep any trace of frustration out of his voice.

“Sandburg, keep saying things like that and I’ll have you out on your ass.”

With a sigh, Blair stood. “Fine,” he answered with a bit of a huff, “but just know I am willing to help.”

Jim didn’t answer but turned, leaving the interview room and heading for his desk. He had some paperwork to catch up on thanks to his enforced stay at the SCC and would do it while keeping an eye on and evaluating how much of a threat Sandburg might be.

Four hours later, after completing all his outstanding paperwork, Jim stood and grabbed his jacket. Blair, who had been reading through crime scene and PD field regulations, looked up. “We’re done for the day, Sandburg,” Jim informed him. “I’m heading home. You can do whatever it is you do when you’re not here.”

“Right,” Blair nodded, putting the book down on the corner of Jim’s desk and standing. “I’ve been considering some questions about sentinels in the police department and was wondering if you could sit with me and go over some information.”

“Make a list and I’ll try and answer them in the morning. I’m through for the day and want to get home.”

Blair nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He began gathering his stuff as Jim turned and left.

Blair stopped and watched Jim head to the elevator. At no point did he see Jim use any heightened senses or have any problems with his senses. Wondering how the hell Jim was hiding his abilities, Blair decided he would push his agenda the next day.

…

Sitting in his warehouse apartment the next morning and sipping a cup of coffee, Blair tried to think how Jim could trick the SCC testers and why he would. Technically, when someone was identified as a sentinel, he or she became a ward of the SCC until a proper guardian could be found. Blair knew some sentinels did balk at being made wards of the SCC, feeling some of their liberties were taken away and, technically, that was true. Guardians, because they had to deal with sentinel health and environmental issues as well as any sentinel instinctual issues that could arise, were given financial and medical control over their wards. And, while that meant that in theory they could overrule a sentinel’s decision and actually did have final say when it came to certain aspects of a sentinel’s life, it didn’t mean the sentinel had no say in his own life. 

Early on, there had been some abuses by guardians that had caused a very bad rep, but the SCC took major steps to weed out inappropriate guardians. In the last ten years, the SCC had been seen as a benevolent institute dedicated to the care of sentinels. When a sentinel was identified, the SCC immediately began looking for an appropriate guardian for the sentinel. The aim was to ensure the safety and continued well-being of the sentinels and the city at large and, hopefully, to initiate the bonding process between the sentinel and guardian. 

Very little was known about actual bonding: when it worked, why it worked, how it worked were questions that no one had answers for. There had been many theories but none had ever panned out. It was considered a very rare occurrence, maybe one in ten thousand sentinels bonded to their guardian, but when a sentinel bonded to a guardian the sentinel’s senses would sharpen dramatically. In the beginning, the SCC thought sex was the catalyst for bonding and encouraged guardians to have intimate relations with their sentinels, but the SCC discovered that was not the case. Despite many guardians having sex with their sentinels, bonding rarely occurred and some at the SCC theorized that not all sentinels could bond. Those that did bond to their guardians were considered elite sentinels and were highly prized for their strong abilities.

Gathering his stuff, Blair headed to Central Precinct. He was going to push Jim into either using his senses and giving himself away or admitting he had enhanced senses, and then he would get Jim whatever help he needed as a sentinel.

Parking in the PD lot, Blair was about to enter the building when he noticed Jim across the street in front of a coffee shop holding a cup of coffee and talking with two other men. He debated walking over but, unsure he wanted to interrupt the conversation and pretty sure he wouldn’t be welcomed, he smiled and whispered, “Jim,” hoping Jim would turn and look at him. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work and, sighing, Blair turned and entered the building.

From his vantage point Jim could see Blair reflected in the storefront window and watched as the SCC doctor mouthed his name. Knowing better than to react, Jim waited until Blair entered the building before turning towards the PD. “H, Rafe,” he said, addressing the two detectives with him, “I guess we better get to work.”

The three crossed the street, all carrying their coffees, and took the elevator up to Major Crimes. Walking in and pretending surprise that Blair was there, Jim approached him. “You made it here early,” he noted.

“It’s the early bird that gets the worm, man.”

Jim didn’t answer but put his coffee cup down and turned to his desk, pulling out his case notes. “You said you had some questions,” Jim stated as he took a seat. “I’ll answer them now.”

“Um, yeah,” Blair nodded. “I know there are sentinels in Forensics but how could sentinels function out in the field? I mean there’s a lot of stress and there’s toxins. You’re a perfect example. You were doused with pesticides that could easily put you or any sentinel into shock. How could the police department keep sentinels safe in such a chaotic and dangerous environment?”

“Is that your only objection to sentinels working as cops?”

“Not necessarily, but it is a very important one.”

“And others?”

“What if the sentinel zoned while in the field?” Blair challenged.

“Isn’t the guardian there to deal with that?”

“Based on your logic, the guardian would have to be a cop,” Blair pointed out.

“Is there a problem with that?” Jim asked, a trace of annoyance in his voice.

“No, of course not, but, most guardians are recruited from universities where they have been studying sentinels. They are, for the most part, researchers and, while many will get involved with Search and Rescue as needed or medical research or Forensics, they are not going to enter law enforcement, at least not as cops.“

“Too bad it limits sentinels’ opportunities since they need to work with their guardians,” Jim stated, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“Look, sentinels have great abilities but they have great limitations too. If a sentinel really wanted to be a cop, we could hold him at the SCC until we found a guardian who would be willing to go into that profession,” Blair responded.

“You mean hold them in one of those jail cells you call rooms?”

“They’re not jail cells,” Blair answered heatedly.

“It’s a small room with a sink, toilet and twin bed fastened to the floor. The door can only be opened from the outside and it has no windows. I call that a cell.”

“It’s set up for low sensory input so the sentinel’s senses aren’t taxed,” Blair snapped.

“So, as far as the sentinel is concerned, it is also a deprivation tank. I think that qualifies as torture,” Jim answered, mockery evident in his voice.

“That’s ridiculous,” Blair answered.

“Obviously, you haven’t tried spending a night in one of those rooms,” Jim observed.

“Maybe I will, then,” Blair challenged.

“Good idea,” Jim agreed. “Spend 24 hours in one and then come back and tell me how a sentinel – someone with heightened senses – would feel in such an isolated space. You might also consider the tender care they get from the staff while you're making those observations. I think sentinels might be willing to give up on a desired profession to stay out of one of those cells for a prolonged period of time.”

Blair opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it thoughtfully. While he was angry at Jim’s assertions that the SCC was so manipulative, he couldn’t deny that Jim might have a point about isolating a sentinel. As far as he knew, the rooms had been a standard part of the SCC for years, the idea being to give sentinels some relief from the massive input their senses were bombarded with, but he'd never considered the rooms from a sentinel’s viewpoint. And while he'd never thought of them as cells, he couldn’t deny the description either.

Seeing Blair’s thoughtful expression, Jim turned back to his desk, pulling out his files and reviewing one. He’d let the SCC doctor think over the little games the SCC played to control sentinels. Blair was about to turn and ask something when H and Rafe walked over. “Jim,” H called out and the detective looked up. “We’re going to interview Mrs. Hudson about the burglary again. Are you still looking into the pawn shops?”

“Yeah,” Jim answered with a sigh, “but I’m guessing the perps are sitting on the goods, nothing’s turned up yet.”

“You still think it was someone connected to all three families?” Rafe added.

“Yeah, probably someone who worked on all three houses,” Jim agreed. “I’ll go and interview the Gordons and the Bentleys again and we can compare notes. Ask about workers who have been in the house in the last couple of months.”

“We’ll meet and compare notes this afternoon,” Rafe agreed before glancing at Blair and back at Jim.

Taking the hint, Jim turned. “Doctor Blair Sandburg, meet Detectives Brown and Rafe. Dr. Sandburg is doing a study for the SCC on whether sentinels should be cops.”

Blair stood and offered his hand to both detectives. “That’s not exactly what the study is about,” he said with a forced smile. “We’re evaluating how safe the environment is.”

“How safe the environment is,” Rafe repeated. “No environment is entirely safe for anyone, but no one should live their life in a bubble either.”

“I wouldn’t call living in a bubble, living,” H added. “Anyway, welcome, Hairboy.”

“Hairboy?” Blair questioned and H glanced over Blair’s long curls before turning and walking away, chuckling, Rafe with him.

“Interesting colleagues,” Blair commented drily, turning back to Jim. “I might want to interview them later about their experiences in the police department.”

“I think you will find they are not fans of the SCC,” Jim warned, glancing at the doctor.

“Is there a reason, or is that just a general feeling around here?” Blair asked irritably. 

Jim looked around and then leaned in close, whispering, “Most of the cops in both Homicide and Major Crimes have worked with the sentinel-guardian pair in Forensics and all of us are disgusted.”

“What do you mean? Is there something wrong with the sentinel?”

“Not with the sentinel,” Jim answered. “Ryan Joplin is a decent guy. His guardian is the problem.”

“Why…why would you say that?”

“Well,” Jim answered, “His guardian, Mike Monroe, is in charge of their money, so Ryan never has any. Monroe is a vegan and won’t let Ryan buy and eat meat, even though Ryan’s not a vegan. The only time Ryan gets to eat meat is if we take the Forensics team out to celebrate a successful closure on a case and we have a preordered meal. Not only that, Monroe won’t let Ryan have a beer, a snack from the vending machine or soda. If lunch is ordered in, he decides what Ryan will eat, since he has the money. The man is thirty-something years old. I think he’s old enough to eat what he wants and have a drink with friends. At last year’s holiday party, Ryan wanted to have the roast beef and Monroe vetoed it in front of everyone. Can you imagine what that did for the man’s self-esteem or his standing in the PD?” 

“You’re exaggerating,” Blair accused and Jim shook his head.

“Remember Sandburg, the guardian is in charge of the money. He gets to decide what the sentinel does for a living, where he eats, where he lives, and what he wears.”

“But, if the guardian is so overbearing, why doesn’t the sentinel ask for a new guardian?” Blair asked.

“There’s no guarantee the next guardian will be any better and the sentinel gets to stay in that little torture chamber you call a room while waiting for another pairing.” Jim paused and studied Blair. He could see Blair was actually listening and considering what he was saying. “Want to explain to me why a sentinel can’t have access to his own money?”

“The sentinel might buy things that are detrimental to his health or might use the money for a sentinel instinctive purpose that is not necessarily in his best interest,” Blair answered automatically.

“So, a child of, say, twelve is able to decide for himself what he wants to buy, but an adult man who works for a living can’t? Face it, Sandburg. It’s a way of controlling the sentinel.”

Hearing this, put in just those terms, Blair couldn’t help but agree. There was no reason he could think of for not letting sentinels have access to their money. Especially if the sentinel had a guardian to protect him. Blair didn’t answer, but looked at Jim. “I’d like to see this pair in action without them knowing who I am.”

“I think I can arrange that,” Jim agreed, his voice for the first time sounding approachable.

Getting up, Jim walked over and knocked on Simon’s door before entering. “Sir, I’m going to head out to interview the families in the burglaries again.”

“Good,” Simon looked up. “How are things going with the doctor?”

“He’s heard some realities about the rules sentinels are forced to live under and he is listening,” Jim admitted. “He’s asked if there’s some way he can observe Joplin and Monroe in the field without their knowing he’s from the SCC.”

“How will that help us get sentinels?” Simon asked.

“It might not, but it might make for a few changes that would improve sentinels’ lives. We’ve both seen what an asshole Monroe is. Wouldn’t it be better if we didn’t have to have someone like him to have a working sentinel? Who knows? With a few changes, we might see some doors open for sentinels.”

Simon considered this for a moment. “That makes sense. I can find out where Monroe and Joplin are working today and maybe you can take something to their location on your way to interview witnesses.”

“Good,” Jim agreed.

About to pick up the phone, Simon stopped and glanced at Jim. “I’ve gotten a bit of information on the doctor. He’s well-respected and actually considered brilliant in his field. He got his doctorate in anthropology and has done some postdoctoral work in sentinel studies. He finished his degree last year and went on to do some field work at some temple somewhere in South America before applying to work at the SCC. His mentor, some bigwig anthropologist, gave him a glowing recommendation and he was offered an administrative position. So, he’s only been back in the States for a couple of months and with the SCC for a short time. He may be discovering that the SCC is not exactly what it’s been publicized to be. That could help sentinels, too.” As Simon finished, he lifted the phone. “I’ll find out where Joplin and Monroe are.”

An hour later, Jim pulled up in front of a small house in one of the seedier Cascade neighborhoods. There were several emergency vehicles around with their lights flashing and cops and photographers examining the scene. “The man in the black jacket is Mike Monroe. The man wearing the dark green sweater is Sentinel Ryan Joplin,” he informed Blair. “I’m going to go over and talk with one of the investigating officers. As long as you don’t go in the house and you tell them you’re with me, no one should bother you.”

Blair nodded and hopped out of the truck, following Jim as he made his way to the barrier that had been set up. Passing the wooden barricade and yellow tape, Jim stopped and greeted the officer before indicating that Blair was with him and continuing on until he reached the investigative officer’s side. At the same time Blair stopped within listening distance of the sentinel-guardian pair. The sentinel was crouched down looking at the ground, the guardian standing over him, a hand resting on the back of his neck.

“Did you pick up anything else?” Monroe was asking and Joplin, a tall man with sandy blond hair and greenish gray eyes, shook his head no. 

Standing, he shrugged, “Just the smell of bleach. The perp must have doused the scene with it to cover whatever smells he didn’t want recognized.”

“You think?” Monroe’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he pushed Joplin away. “You have all these high enhanced senses,” Monroe snarled, annoyance evident in his voice, “and you can’t tell me anything more than I can tell for myself.” He turned away, looking disgusted. “You really are no better than a bloodhound that can talk. No wonder you need a guardian.”

In shock, Blair opened his mouth to say something, to reprimand the man and apologize to the sentinel but stopped, reminding himself that he didn’t want the sentinel-guardian pair to know he was with the SCC. Instead, he watched as Monroe called out to the investigator talking with Jim. “Ryan can’t pick up a damn thing. I’m going to take him back to the PD and let him get some paperwork done. It’s pretty much all he’s good for.” With that he turned on his heel, heading back to his car, Joplin, head bowed, beside him.

Jim, beside the lead investigator, shook hands with the man and turned, walking back to Blair. “Why would the sentinel put up with that kind of abuse?” Blair hissed angrily.

“What choice does he have?” Jim asked, as he indicated they should head back to the truck.

“What do you mean what choice? He can ask for a new guardian.”

“Who may or may not be any better. Who may or may not work in the same field?. Remember the sentinel works with the guardian. Sentinels don’t always have the option of choosing their careers. And while he waits, for however long it takes, he gets to sit in that little cell.” 

White-faced with his hands clenched, Blair nodded and stalked to the truck. As they reached the truck, Jim glanced around and then back at Blair. “I hate to inform you of this, Chief, but the SCC considers Monroe an excellent guardian. Some of us in the PD felt really bad for Ryan and looked into Monroe. He’s held as one of the better examples of how a guardian maintains the health and security of a sentinel, overseeing his life and not letting the sentinel harm himself or come to harm. So, if this is the SCC’s idea of a good guardian…” Jim shrugged not finishing; he didn’t need to.

Understanding what Jim was saying and unsure he could keep from screaming in anger if he opened his mouth, Blair nodded, taking deep slow breaths to calm himself as they got on the road. After a while, when he felt himself calmer, Blair glanced over at Jim. “Do you think you could drop me at the SCC? I’d really like to do some research. I can pick up my car tomorrow.”

“Sure, anything in particular you’re looking up?”

“Yes, I’m going to stay in one of those sentinel rooms for the rest of the day and tonight and see what it really is like for sentinels.”

“I guess you’re facing something of a paradigm shift,” Jim observed.

“Man, I never looked at this from a sentinel’s point of view. I’ve always looked at this as guardians trying to protect sentinels and a very ugly picture is emerging. I’m really hoping this is the exception and not the rule.”

“Good. You can see why I, or for that matter anyone else, would not want to be a sentinel and maybe you can start to do something about this.”

As Jim pulled up at the SCC office, Blair turned to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jim nodded as Blair jumped out and, for one brief moment, Jim watched as a wolf appeared behind Blair, following him into the building. “A wolf,” Jim whispered to himself with a chuckle. “I’ll be damned.”

…

“So, Anya,” Blair told Dr. Anya Villon after going over Jim’s insights from his stay at the SCC, “I think Jim might be on to something. It never occurred to me that our sentinel rooms might be the equivalent of deprivation tanks. I mean, why don’t we have televisions, telephones, radios and computers in those rooms? The sentinels are not our prisoners and they certainly aren’t convicts.”

“Honestly, Blair, I doubt he’s right. Those rooms are designed to keep sentinels from overloading. Remember they have sensitive systems.”

“That still doesn’t explain the lack of amenities. I think a sentinel is capable of turning a television on or off, don’t you?”

“Well, now that you mention it, yes. At the next budget meeting we could suggest it. But, to be honest, I doubt the committee will go for it. One,” she held up a finger, “that would be a major expense and two, we don’t want the news upsetting sentinels. Their sensitivities-“

“Are just like anyone else’s,” Blair cut in. “We are forgetting they are adults, even if they are wards of the SCC. And you might as well know, I’ve decided to find out first-hand what it is like to stay in one of those rooms.

After a moment Anya turned to Gordy Graham. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I think Blair’s idea of staying a night in one of the rooms might be something to consider.”

“I’m going to do it tonight,” Blair answered. “And I don’t want you telling the night staff that I’m an administrator. I want to experience this the way a sentinel would.”

“Okay,” Anya agreed. “Let’s hope no one that knows you is on tonight.”

Blair agreed and stood. “I guess I should go into the room now.”

“The day staff know you,” Anya pointed out.

“Yeah, but I can say I’m doing some research and need the quiet and you can tell them you’ll let me out. When the day staff go home, let the evening staff know there’s a sentinel in residence and I’ll see you both tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

Anya stood. “I admire your commitment, Blair,” she said as she led Blair to one of the sentinel rooms and, unlocking the door, let him in. With a quick look around she nodded and left, the door automatically locking behind her.

For the first couple of hours, Blair looked over reports he had carried in with him. He was reviewing interviews with sentinels and guardians, tallying how many cases he came across where the guardians were dismissive, not of sentinels needs – that was never a case -- but of sentinels’ desires both in the field and in domestic partnerships. As he really read through the interviews and descriptions, he began reading between the lines. While none of the questions specifically asked a sentinel if he would prefer more freedoms in his life, most showed that in the domestic partnership with a guardian the sentinels felt powerless. 

And then, without so much as a knock, the door opened and a man carried in a tray, putting it down on the bed. On it, covered in plastic wrap, was a plastic knife, fork and spoon, a boiled, dry piece of chicken, a baked potato and some green beans. A bottle of water, a small carton of apple juice and a banana completed the meal. “I’ll be back to pick up the tray in an hour,” the man muttered and turned.

“What about getting some salt or butter?” Blair asked, looking over the dry, tasteless meal.

“Sorry. Until you have a guardian, you’ll have to deal with really bland food. We don’t want you zoning on spices. Your guardian will have to okay the use of any spices.” The man said this in all seriousness and Blair added that to the growing pile of evidence that sentinels were totally controlled in their daily life. While Blair could concede that excessive salt could be an issue, butter certainly was not an issue and a sentinel having to depend on the guardian for palatable food was more about control than safety. The man started for the door.

“Wait, um...what about my getting a shower?”

“A shower?” the man turned and looked Blair over, and Blair had the feeling he was deciding whether or not Blair could have one. Another sign of control. Finally, the man nodded, “Someone will come and take you to get a shower just before lights out.”

“Lights out?”

“Yeah, lights out. Sentinels all need their sleep,” he said in an insulting singsong voice. “All the lights in this room will turn off at ten. They will turn them back on at seven in the morning.”

“What if I’m not tired?”

The man shrugged. “Sorry, that’s the rule.”

Blair nodded and started uncovering the tray as the door closed and locked.

At seven the same man picked up the tray and at nine, again without so much as a knock, two men wearing guard insignias walked in. “Shower time,” they announced and Blair stood.

“Leave your clothes here,” one man instructed, handing Blair a flimsy hospital gown. “We’ll be taking them and replacing them with sentinel-safe clothing anyway.”

Blair waited for the men to give him some privacy but after a minute one said impatiently, “If you want a shower tonight, you had better strip.”

“Strip,” Blair repeated, “Right.” He took off his clothes and handed them to one of the guards before they escorted him to a communal shower and handed him some sentinel-friendly soap and shampoo. 

As he soaped up and showered, he was aware of the men watching him. “Not a bad looker,” he heard one say to another. “Some guardian is going to have a really good time with that sentinel’s piece of ass.”

“If you ask me, they’re all freaks,” the other answered.

Twenty minutes later, Blair was led back to his cell, and now he had to admit it was a cell. “In the morning, someone will bring you an electric razor,” one of the guards informed him as Blair entered the room. Without another word they closed the door. 

And at ten o’clock the lights went off, leaving the room silent and in total darkness.

…“I was treated like a criminal,” Blair complained to Anya and Gordy the next day after Anya came and released him. “I was forced to strip and to shower in front of onlookers who discussed my sexual attributes and future. I was called a freak. I was given almost inedible food for dinner and breakfast and had no control over the environment. The lights went out at ten and there was nothing to do after that. Jim was right, it is a prison and WE ARE THE JAILORS.”

“Blair, calm down,” Anya answered. “We hear you and we agree things will have to be changed but we have to move slowly.”

“Slowly,” Blair scoffed. Having seen and, to some extent, experienced how sentinels lived and were treated, he wanted immediate changes to the SCC. “Jim was right when he said sentinels would rather live with overbearing guardians than come back for any prolonged stay in these rooms. We have to do something.” Blair glanced at the other two administrators, shaking his head in frustration. “This morning while I waited for my breakfast of hardboiled eggs, dry toast, juice and water, I looked into the history of the SCC. Did you know the SCC was founded by guardians and no sentinels had any input into the building or maintaining of this complex? As a matter of fact, all the decisions were made based on keeping sentinels isolated until they could be handed to a guardian. It’s not written anywhere, but I’m sure the idea was to wear down the sentinels’ resistance to having someone control their lives. No one looked at sentinels and how they functioned or what they might actually want or need from the SCC.” 

“What would you suggest?” Gordy asked

“We need to rethink the sentinel-guardian thing. For one thing, sentinels should have control of their money. There is no reason for the guardian to control the money and decide what a sentinel can eat, wear, or buy. And sentinels should be able to choose their own professions. I don’t think they should have to be connected to the guardian’s job. And if they have to wait for a guardian to be found who works in their desired profession then the rooms need to change. They need to be en suites with lamps and access to the outside world. Why are we locking sentinels in those rooms? They are not prisoners. And the sentinels who stay here should have some say in what they eat, a menu of some kind. Then we have to review how guards are selected.” Blair’s voice had been rising the entire time he was talking and as he finished, he practically glared at Anya and Gordy, daring them to disagree.

“Everything you're proposing costs a lot of money,” Gordy pointed out.

“The alternative is unacceptable,” Blair answered, angrily. “If sentinels are our wards, we have to treat them properly.”

“Alright, let’s put some numbers together. We can submit at least some of the changes at the next budget meeting,” Gordy agreed. “We may not be able to do it all at once, but we can make some changes.”

“I’ll try and look into psychological tests to weed out some less desirable guards and guardians,” Anya offered.

“Good. In the meantime, I’m going to go back to working with Jim. It’s giving me insight into sentinels’ lives and I still think Jim is a sentinel. And though I’ve come to understand why he wouldn’t want to be classified as a sentinel, I have to see how he faked the tests and how he functions in everyday life. I think he might be the key to helping and improving other sentinels’ lives.”

… 

After the meeting with the SCC administrators, Blair had gone home, showered, changed out of the “sentinel safe” clothing he had been given (the clothes consisting of a pair of white cotton drawstring pants, socks, and shirt) and had a decent meal (which included coffee, something he was told he was not allowed to have without the express permission of his guardian) before heading to the PD. 

Blair walked into Major Crime late that morning. Jim was leaning against a desk, a cup of coffee in hand as his eyes traveled over Blair with interest. “So, Sandburg," he said, "did you spend the night at the SCC? You do look well rested,” he added sarcastically. 

Blair winced, knowing Jim was referring to the lights-out policy. “You were more right than wrong and not just about the SCC rooms,” Blair admitted. “While I spent the day,” he didn’t want to say in the cell, “at the SCC I had time to read over research and interviews with guardians and sentinels. I am going to suggest a slew of changes to the SCC and to guardians’ legal authorities. But that doesn’t change the fact that sentinels need help. They just don’t need a guardian taking over their whole lives.” Jim nodded and Blair asked the one question he'd been wondering about. “Most of the stuff I found about the sentinels and guardians was not known to the general public. The general belief is they are pairs and friends or lovers. How did you know so much about the downside of the relationship?”

“I saw the sentinel-guardian pairs in the army. It was obvious it was a one-sided relationship. On one of my missions, I got a chance to talk with one of the sentinels. And as a detective, I got a front row seat while watching Monroe.”

“That’s why things have to change,” Blair agreed.

“You’re going to get a lot of backlash from idiots like Monroe,” Jim warned. “Guardians are not going to want to give up their superior status or the control of sentinels and their incomes.”

“Yeah, I figured, so I’m going to go back to the source to justify the changes. I’m going to review Richard Burton’s documents on sentinels in tribal settings and go from there. His stuff was the original material that identified sentinels, though it hasn’t really been used in years. The prevailing theory is that his work came from the jungles and didn’t equate to the specific challenges a sentinel faces in cities. I might have to do some additional research with some native tribes as well. I can speak with some tribal elders and tribal shamans. They have both written and oral traditions around sentinels.”

Jim nodded. “I don’t know what exact term Burton will use but you might find he identified the sentinel’s companion as a guide, not guardian, someone to watch his back when he used his senses and someone to guide him when he wanted to use his senses.”

Blair’s eyes narrowed, suspiciously. “And you would know this because?”

Jim shrugged. “I spent eighteen months with a tribe in the jungles of Peru.”

“Wait a minute, you’re the Jim Ellison that was lost in Peru?”

“Yeah,” Jim answered.

“And you spent a year and a half with the…the Chopec?” Blair pulled the name out of the recesses of his memory.

Jim nodded.

“Man, I was doing my graduate work in anthropology at the time and more than anything I wanted to interview you about your experiences. So, you saw sentinels and guardians in action when you were with the Chopec?”

“Guides, not guardians,” Jim corrected. “When a sentinel went out to hunt or survey the land, a guide went with him to be sure he didn’t zone or suffer a spike when using his senses. While I’ll say there weren’t that many things to spike on in the jungle, the guide was someone trained to deal with both. They were equal partners, both honored by the tribe, neither subservient to the other. And, by the way, not just anyone could be a bonded guide. A bonded guide was able to connect with the sentinel on a, I don’t know, psychic level. True guides were as special as sentinels.”

“What happened if there was no connection?” Blair asked, his mind going over the research he had done yesterday. The few pairs that had bonded had said there was a connection that they could both feel.

“The tribe would supply someone to help the sentinel, a place card holder or interim guide I guess you might call it, until the sentinel’s true guide was found.”

“How would they recognize the true sentinel and guide pair?”

“Oh, both the sentinel and guide would know,” Jim assured him with an enigmatic smile and Blair frowned.

Looking at Jim’s smile, Blair was sure Jim knew more about the topic than he was saying. He was about to question Jim when Simon came out of his office. “We have a bank robbery in progress,” he called out. “We need to roll.” Everyone looked up, stopping what they were doing.

Putting down his coffee cup, Jim turned to Simon. “Where?”

“First Bank of Cascade on Main. SWAT’s en route and Major Crimes is acting as back up.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Jim said. Grabbing his coat, Jim started out of the bullpen, already pulling out his keys. Blair, beside him, glanced back and noticed all the detectives were getting their gear and following, their faces grim. “Sandburg, you will have to stay back from the action, you’re a ride-along, not a cop.”

“Where will you be?” Blair asked a bit nervously. He had never been at the scene of a bank robbery but, despite his fear, he didn’t want to be left behind. 

“I’ll find out when I get there. But I’m going to want you to wear a vest and stay back.”

Blair nodded as they made their way down to Jim’s truck and Jim, putting his police light in the window, followed Simon’s car out of the PD.

Organized Chaos, Blair thought as he glanced around the bank perimeter twenty minutes later. The area had been cordoned off and a large number of guns were trained on the building where three bank robbers were holed up with multiple employees and at least ten other hostages, including a three-year-old who was crying as one of the robbers held him up as a physical shield in front of the bank window. According to reports from the cops on scene, at least three people were shot – one, the bank guard, fatally. There was a negotiator on the phone with the robbers, who were demanding a helicopter on the roof and promising to let hostages go after the helicopter landed. Further back, behind a second barrier, held there by uniformed officers, their cameras and lights everywhere, the press were filming and trying to question anyone they could.

Into this mix came SWAT, taking up positions where they had the best chance at getting clear shots at the robbers. Without too much trouble, they could get two of the robbers. The problem was the third – the one holding the child. 

As all this was going on, Jim kept looking at a rooftop down the street and some distance from the scene. Glancing there for the third time and then back at the SWAT team captain and Simon, Jim made a decision and walked over. “Sirs,” he interrupted and they both turned to look at him.

“I could take down the one holding the child. I could make the shot from down there,” Jim indicated the building far in the distance. 

“That’s a long way off, Ellison,” the SWAT captain, Dave Green, observed. 

“I’m rated a marksman and was trained as a sniper in the Rangers. Give me a calibrated long-range rifle and I can do it. I’ll go for a head shot. It will be fatal, but it will be instantaneous.”

“That building is too far away, Jim,” Simon glanced over at the building in the distance, sounding unsure. “I mean even with a scope that would not be an easy shot. You’d have to be a sent…” Simon paused his eyes meeting Jim’s as he realized what Jim was saying. “You’re sure you can make the shot?”

“Yeah,” Jim nodded, knowing he was answering more than just the question about the shot. As one, they turned to Captain Green.

“It’s your call, Dave,” Simon said.

“You really think Ellison can make that shot?” Green asked.

“If he says he can, he can,” Simon affirmed.

“Well, God help us all if he hits the kid by mistake,” Green muttered and turned to Jim. “I’ll get you a long-range rifle with a scope that’s been calibrated. Take a headset with you and get into position. We’ll tell you when we’re ready to move. If you decide you can’t make the shot, just let us know and we’ll try something else.”

Jim nodded and, with a meaningful glance at Simon, turned to get a headset and the rifle. Turning back towards the building in the distance, he called out to Blair, who had been held back, near the perimeter. “Sandburg, come on, I’m going to need you,” he headed down the street.

“Where are we going?” Blair asked as they pushed past the crowd of reporters, ignoring the chaos around them, and continued down the street.

Jim glanced around, making sure they were not being followed. “The roof of that building,” he indicated one in the distance. “If SWAT decides to move, I’m going to have to shoot the one holding the little boy.”

“Will you be able to get a shot from that distance?” Blair asked with concern.

“Yeah, but I’m going to need you to ground me so I can focus on sight.”

“Ground you,” Blair looked over at Jim, realizing the implications of the statement. “You are a sentinel!” he accused.

“A sentinel who is about to use his senses,” Jim agreed. “So, I’m going to need your help.”

“Sure, anything you need,” Blair immediately agreed as they entered the building. Finding the building manager, they had him lead them to and unlock the roof before asking him to go back downstairs and keep everyone away from the roof.

“How have you hidden your abilities?” Blair asked as Jim took the rifle out of its case.

“Later, Sandburg. Right now, I need you to keep a hand on my back and keep talking to me. I’m going to have to concentrate on sight and I don’t want to zone.”

“Okay.” Blair watched Jim put on the headset and stretch out on the edge of the roof, rifle trained on the bank. Reaching out he rested his hand on the small of Jim’s back and began speaking softly. Not knowing what to talk about, Blair started talking about his days as an anthropology teaching assistant.

To Jim, it was background noise, but it was enough as he focused on the robber. “I’m in position,” Jim informed the SWAT coordinator on the other end of the headset.

“Hold tight, we’ll let you know when Captain Green gives the go-ahead.”

Jim didn’t answer, just settled in, gun at the ready, the scope trained on the robber’s forehead until a voice over the headset said, “If you’re ready, we’re going in ten. I’ll count backwards. On one, shoot.”

“Ready,” Jim replied his voice tense as he concentrated and ten seconds later, a shot rang out. His eyes following the bullet, Jim saw it hit the robber right between the eyes, the child falling to the floor as the robber was thrown backwards by the force of the impact. At the same time two other shots rang out and suddenly the robbery was over. Police and then medical personnel rushed into the building as Jim dismantled the gun.

“Great shot, Ellison,” Captain Green commended over the headset. “You can stand down.”

Removing the headset, Jim sat back and gave a sigh relief. “You okay?” Blair asked and Jim nodded.

“Killing someone is not something I want to do. But as a soldier and now as a cop I can handle it if it saves an innocent like that baby.”

Blair nodded soberly. He hated the idea of killing and guns but he had to agree. The baby’s life had to be saved. “We have a lot to talk about. You have to explain how you faked those tests and you need,” about to say a guardian, Blair paused. “A guide,” he finished. “And Jim, you will have to talk to me later about your needs.”

“Thanks, Chief. And,” he looked directly into Blair’s eyes, “to tell the truth, I already know who my guide is.” He watched as what he was saying became clear to Blair. Smiling, Blair opened his mouth to say something but Jim cut him off. “Come on. We have to get down there.”

Down on the street, the media was going crazy. They were trying their best to get to Captain Green, to get an interview. Slipping around most of the madness, Jim handed the rifle over to a member of the SWAT team and walked over to stand by Simon Banks.

“That was some shot, Ellison,” Dave Green whispered.

“Thank the army,” Jim answered and Green gave him a knowing smile.

“Right,” he agreed. “Well, if you ever want to transfer to SWAT there will be a position for you,” he turned away as Simon turned and glanced at Jim. 

“We’ll talk back at the office,” he whispered, “but I think you outed yourself. Dave has to be questioning how you made that shot and the media is already asking who took out the robber holding the baby.” About to answer, Jim was stopped by the arrival of the Commissioner. Simon, seeing them, added, “Head back to the office and start filling out your report for IA. I’ll see if I can do some damage control.”

“Thanks Simon,” Jim whispered and, signaling Blair to follow, headed for his truck.

The Commissioner, with a prepared statement, stepped over to where the media was waiting. “I’ll make a statement,” he declared, “and then take a few questions.” He glanced around, waiting for quiet, ignoring the microphones pushed at him. “At twelve o’clock this afternoon, three men attempted to rob the First Bank of Cascade. In their initial takeover of the bank, they shot and killed one person and wounded two others. A negotiator was called in and the SWAT and Major Crimes teams arrived on the scene. The negotiator informed the SWAT and Major Crimes captains that the robbers were panicking and that one of the injured hostages was in need of immediate medical help. When the negotiator was unable to calm the robbers, the SWAT and Major Crimes’ teams decided it would be best to neutralize the threat. Just under twenty minutes ago, the SWAT and Major Crimes teams, working in collaboration, took out all three robbers. I am happy to report that there were no further injuries to the bank personnel or hostages.” By the time the Commissioner had finished the report, both captains had come to stand behind him.

“Sir, do you know the names of the people injured?”

“We are holding back on names until relatives can be notified.”

“Do you know the names of the robbers?”

“Right now it is under investigation.”

“Can you tell us the name of the officer who took out the robber holding the child? That seemed like a near impossible shot.” The Commissioner didn’t answer but turned to the captains and Dave Green stepped forward. Simon, hoping Green would be discreet, held his breath as the captain looked out at the press.

“Obviously, for security and safety reasons, we will not release the name of the officer, but I can assure you the officer was a trained marksman.”

The press seemed to accept the answer and went on to other questions and Dave leaned over to whisper to Simon. “Let Ellison know my team won’t say anything, but with all the cameras around it's guaranteed the press will find out he made the shot.”

Simon, watching the crowd, nodded. “I know,” he agreed. “Ellison was a black-ops-trained covert officer in the Rangers. He would have a special skill set.”

Dave gave Banks a quick look. “You’re a lucky bastard having his special skills in your department.”

And Simon couldn’t help but agree.

…

In Jim’s truck, Blair was practically bouncing in his seat. “So, how did you do it?” he demanded and Jim chuckled at Blair’s impatience.

“Not now, Chief. If you want, I can explain later, right now I have a report to fill out and I’m going to have to meet with Simon and maybe even IA regarding the shot.”

“Did the captain know?” Blair asked.

“No, no one did,” Jim admitted. “If I had told the captain, he would have insisted that I work with the SCC even though he knows the SCC is a bad option for anyone. I'm going spin a tale that I was trained as a sniper in the Rangers – which I was - and I have very good eyesight. The SCC tests will support my claims. They listed that I had better than average sight. Hopefully, that will be enough to explain the shot.”

“And if it’s not?” Blair asked.

“I have other options,” Jim answered cryptically.

Not liking the sound of that, Blair shifted to look at Jim. “I’m recommending a lot of changes at the SCC,” he offered.

“Changes?”

“Yes.” Blair lifted his finger to start a count, “One, sentinels control their own money. There is no reason for the guardian to be in charge of their money. Two, sentinels choose their own careers.” Seeing Jim about to say something, Blair held up a hand. “Three, I’m recommending that the SCC change the sentinel rooms. There should be televisions, radios, and computers in the rooms. The doors should not lock from the outside and there should be no ten o’clock lights-out policy.” Holding up a fourth finger Blair continued, “This will take longer because it requires construction but I am recommending that all sentinel rooms have a private area with shower, sink and toilet. And, five,” Blair ticked off another finger, “I am asking that a food menu be available for when sentinels stay in the rooms. The food was disgusting and they wouldn’t give me salt or butter or even coffee.”

“That’s a good start,” Jim agreed.

“You have some things you would add?” 

Jim nodded. “Sentinels should be part of the interviewing and hiring process for would-be guides.”

“That's a good idea,” Blair agreed. “Anya, Dr. Anya Villon, she’s one of the SCC administrators,” he clarified, “is already looking into revamping the screening process to improve guard…guide selection.”

“You figured this out in 24 hours, Sandburg? That’s impressive.”

Blair smiled at the compliment, feeling he was connecting with Jim. “It doesn’t change the fact that sentinels need help, though not so heavy-handedly.”

“I agree. And with the right training, a guide could help a sentinel, but they don’t need to be in charge 24/7. When I was in Peru, the only time I needed a guide was when I went out hunting.”

“You had your senses in Peru? That means you’ve been online for five years?” Blair’s voice rose in surprise.

“Without a guardian,” Jim added, as he pulled into the PD garage.

“You haven’t used your senses on the job, have you?”

“Not much. I had to be careful not to zone.”

“So, there is a way not to use your senses?” Blair concluded.

“Later, Chief,” Jim walked up to his desk and, logging in, began typing his report.

He was just finishing the report when Simon walked in. Walking past Jim, he stopped and, with a glance at Blair, turned to Jim. “Can I see you in my office?”

Jim nodded and, rising, followed Simon into his office, closing the door behind him. Walking to the pot, Simon asked, “Coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jim took the offered cup and Simon indicated he should sit. 

“So, Sandburg was right. You are a sentinel,” he started.

“If I don’t confirm that, you can honestly say I never told you,” Jim warned.

Simon grunted, knowing full well the cat was out of the bag. “We’re starting our own ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy,” he said before sitting down at his desk. “How do you want to spin this?”

“What I told Captain Green was true. I’m a trained sniper and as far as the SCC is concerned I have slightly better than normal eyesight,” Jim shrugged. “The SCC evaluation is actually my proof that I’m not a sentinel.”

“I guess I can attest to the fact that you have functioned in Major Crimes without problems. I mean nothing more than the odd headache that we all get, but what are you going to do about the doctor? He was already claiming you were a sentinel.”

“I’m not really worried about him,” Jim answered. “He’s had a look at the SCC from a sentinel’s viewpoint and he’s not happy with the SCC practices and regulations.”

Simon considered this a moment and then smiled. “Glad to hear it. So, what do I need to do to support you?”

“For now,” Jim smiled. “Make sure Sandburg keeps his observer’s pass.”

Simon frowned. “I would think you would want him as far away as possible.”

“No, he’s a help and he is advocating changing sentinel rules.”

“Okay,” Simon agreed. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I hope so too, Sir,” Jim agreed, glancing out the window at Blair who was going over Jim’s report. Smiling at Blair, he turned back to Simon.

“I have to be cleared by IA?” he asked, quietly. IA was always a sticky situation with him. He had crossed swords with the personnel there on several occasions and he was sure one or two of the detectives there were out for his blood. He had uncovered a bad seed in IA, and they had never forgiven him for it. He guessed they were embarrassed that he had uncovered a dirty cop there.

“They’ll want to interview you, probably tomorrow but it’s just a formality. You’ll be cleared. In the meantime, finish your report and head out for the day. You can’t do anything until you’re officially cleared.”

Jim nodded and went out to the bullpen where Blair was just finishing up editing Jim’s report. “What are you doing Sandburg?” Jim asked, walking over, and Blair indicated the report Jim had printed out. 

“I’m correcting your typos,” Blair answered and Jim glanced at the report.

“Great.” He logged into the computer before indicating Blair should proceed. In minutes the report was finished and, after printing it, Jim put it in Simon’s box. 

Coming back over, he grabbed his jacket. “We can head out. I can’t do anything until I’m cleared by IA.”

“Cleared by IA?”

“Whenever there’s a shooting, Internal Affairs has to clear the cop. In this case, it’s a formality and will be done after they interview me, but Simon doesn’t think they’ll get to it until tomorrow. Come on, Sandburg, I’ll treat you to some dinner and then we can talk.”

“Sounds good,” Blair answered as he grabbed his jacket. 

Going down to the parking lot, Jim started for his truck but stopped and looked around. “How’d you get here?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m in the guest lot,” Blair answered.

“Right, of course. Why don’t you meet me at O’Connor’s Bar and Grill on Fourth?”

“O’Connor’s, is it a cop bar?” Blair asked excitedly and Jim nodded with a bit of a laugh, seeing Blair’s interest.

“Yeah, they have good beer on tap and decent hamburgers.”

“Sounds good, I’ll meet you there,” Blair turned and headed for his car.

For one minute, Jim watched him go, an almost-gentle smile on his face. Incacha had said his true guide would be the only one to recognize he was a sentinel. At first he had thought that maybe Sandburg wasn’t his guide - after all, the young man worked for the SCC. But when Blair had listened to the criticisms of the SCC, had investigated the various complaints and decided to make changes, Jim felt that maybe Doctor Blair Sandburg could work as his guide. The final proof was the ease with which Blair had grounded Jim. Jim had felt the connection and relaxed, the sentinel within him knowing his guide was watching his back. He knew he would not have been able to make that shot without Blair’s grounding. He would have zoned long before he could fire.

Turning, he started for his truck but stopped when he saw H and Rafe coming toward him. “Jim,” H greeted. “Heard about your shot. Way to go, my man.”

“Thanks,” Jim smiled.

Leaning closer, his voice uncharacteristically low, H added, “Are you going to have any problems with the doctor or the SCC?”

Thinking over the “don’t ask, don’t tell,” strategy, Jim shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he answered. “As I told Captain Green, I was trained as a sniper by the army and I failed the SCC tests. As for Sandburg, I know he works for the SCC but he's a decent guy. He actually listens when you tell him what’s wrong with the way sentinels are treated and he’s seen Monroe in action so he knows sentinels are not being treated right.”

“You sure?” Rafe asked and Jim nodded.

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“If you say so, but if you have any trouble, we’re here for you.”

“Thanks guys,” Jim turned to his truck. “As a matter of fact, I’m taking Sandburg out to dinner at O’Connor’s. That’s where I’m headed. Captain Green is buying a round of drinks.” 

“Maybe, we’ll come by later and buy you a beer as well,” H said. “You made Major Crimes look good today with that shot. Anyway, that’ll give us a chance to really meet the doc.”

“Just remember he’s a good guy,” Jim warned, knowing sentinel instincts to protect his guide were kicking in. With a wave, he climbed in his truck and took off.

…

Blair pulled up outside O’Connor’s Bar and Grill and scanned the street, looking for parking. Further down the block he could see Jim’s truck and pulled up right in front of it. For one minute Blair sat in the car, calming his breathing. So much had happened in the last two days that he needed time to process. 

First, he'd found that sentinels were not treated properly by the SCC, then he found out that Jim was able to hide his senses and function normally in a large city and yet was a sentinel. Finally, he found out that Jim thought that Blair was his guardian – no, guide. “There’s so much to learn and so much to do,” he muttered as he locked the car and entered O’Connor’s.

Walking in and looking around, Blair noted quite a few athletic types, all with short or buzz haircuts. Some were wearing sweat shirts with Cascade PD insignias and they were all standing near the bar, laughing and talking, most with a drink in their hands. Blair guessed they were all cops and some looked familiar, like he had seen them today. A minute later Blair realized they were members of the SWAT team when he saw Captain Green raise a glass in salute.

O’Connor’s, while well-lit by the bar area, had tables around the perimeter of the room with softer lighting. Glancing around, Blair saw Jim wave to him and then, with a quick word to Captain Green, walk over to one of the tables near the back, signaling Blair should join him. “Hey Jim,” he greeted as he came over. 

“Sandburg,” Jim nodded to the seat across from him and indicated the menus on the table. Blair quickly glanced at it and they ordered food and beers.

“So, are we going to talk?” Blair asked.

“Not here,” Jim replied. “We can go to my place after dinner and talk. For now, we and the SWAT team are celebrating a successful takedown. I know H and Rafe will be here in a bit and probably Simon too.”

“Is this something that cops do often?” Blair asked, sitting back and watching the group. As an anthropologist, he found the gathering fascinating.

“Not always,” Jim admitted. “But this was a difficult situation. Whenever hostages, especially children, are involved, it becomes super stressful. To take out the perps without more harm to the hostages, that’s something to celebrate.”

“I can understand that. They’re blowing off steam,” Blair surmised as the waitress carried over two beers and a bowl of peanuts. “Has anyone said anything about the shot?” Blair asked quietly.

“No, SWAT wouldn’t,” Jim answered. “Captain Green and his team are good people. Many have been part of elite armed forces’ units: Rangers, SEALs, Green Berets,” Jim listed a few, “and have seen how sentinels are treated by guardians. They would never say anything.”

About to answer, Blair stopped when the food arrived: chicken salad and coleslaw for Blair and a cheeseburger and fries for Jim. When the food was placed down on the table, Blair glanced at Jim. “I’m trying to rethink sentinels’ needs. What would you say are sentinels needs in a city like Cascade?”

Popping a fry into his mouth, Jim considered the question. “When he's sick or hurt, a sentinel needs his guide to help deal with the medical issues. The guide generally knows what his sentinel will react to and what to tell the doctor if the sentinel is incapacitated. Also, when a sentinel focuses using his senses, he needs his guide to ground him and when he has a spike, the guide can help soothe the pain. A sentinel does not need a guide at his side at all times and does not need a guardian. A sentinel needs a friend just like anyone else and a partner when working.”

“And the bond?” Blair asked quietly.

“That’s a matter of choice between the sentinel and guide, not a necessity.” 

Blair nodded. Fleetingly, he wondered what kind of bond Jim would want with his guide. “Then why do sentinels in big cities have so much trouble controlling their senses?”

“They haven’t had a guide who could help them learn control.”

“And you did?”

“In Peru.”

Blair paused. If what Jim said was true, and the evidence was plain that Jim could function without a guardian, then the SCC and the guardians were the problem. About to ask about Peru, Blair stopped as Simon, H, and Rafe came in. Going over to the bar, the three men shook hands with the other cops before grabbing their beers and walking over to the table. Pulling up a chair from another table and grabbing the other two seats at the table, they joined Jim and Blair.

“To a successful takedown,” H held up his glass and the others lifted theirs, the glasses clinking before they all drank. Within minutes, the men had placed their orders and Blair noticed greasy food seemed to be the common theme among all three.

“So, Sandburg, what are your impressions of the PD so far?” H asked.

“Yesterday, I would have called it boring and today exciting.”

“Mostly, it is boring,” Rafe added. “A lot of good detective work is checking facts, interviewing and re-interviewing people and forensic analysis. You don’t see a lot of car chases,” Rafe glanced at Jim. “At least we don’t,” he amended and Jim chuckled.

Blair glanced over at Jim and then back to the others at the table. “What do you think of the sentinel and guardian in Forensics?” he asked and then quickly added, “Don’t think of me as a member of the SCC. Think of me as someone who wants to ensure what is best for the sentinel.”

H and Rafe looked first at each other and then at Jim who nodded for them to answer. “Joplin is a decent guy,” H answered. “But Monroe, the guardian,” he shook his head.

“He treats Joplin like he’s three years old, makes all the decisions for him and, when others are around bosses him around to show everyone who is in charge,” Rafe added.

“If I were Joplin," H continued, "I'd beat the crap out of Monroe and walk away, but then what? Joplin has no money and Monroe owns the house, despite the fact that Joplin pays half the mortgage. Hell, if he walked, he’d have nothing but the clothes on his back and trouble with his senses.” 

Simon took another drink of his beer and spoke. “If you really think about it, where could he go but back to the SCC so they could give him to another guardian? He would be walking away from his money, his job and his home. The SCC system does not work, but their PR department makes them sound wonderful.”

“There’s a decent working pair in the fire department. The guardian is nothing like Monroe,” Rafe piped in. “And they do amazing stuff.”

“They’re bonded,” H added. “Life partners, they share everything, they don’t think of either being in charge of the other. But they tell me that most guardians are like Monroe.”

“Based on what you are saying,” Blair glanced at the three men. “Would you say the SCC has not helped sentinels?”

For a minute no one answered and then Simon said, “I’ve seen Joplin hurting when his senses were out of control and at that point he did need someone, so I don’t really know how to answer that question other than to say sentinels need someone to care for them, not to own them.”

“I’m getting that impression,” Blair admitted. “I’ve only been with the SCC for two months,” at Rafe’s look of confusion Blair added, “I was out of the country before that but in the last 2 days I’ve seen so much that needs to change.”

“Well,” H smiled and held out his hand, “welcome to Major Crimes.” 

Blair smiled in response as the waitress brought over food. 

For the next hour, Blair enjoyed the company of the four cops, Simon, H and Rafe telling Blair stories about some of Jim’s more outrageous exploits. At the end of the hour the group parted company and Blair followed Jim back to Jim’s home for a more private talk.

Pulling up beside Jim’s truck, Blair parked and walked to the entrance to 852 Prospect. Jim was waiting there and they took the elevator up to the third floor, Jim opening the door and indicating Blair should go in first.

Blair had to admit he was curious about the place. He wanted to know how a sentinel would set up a place to live if he didn’t have the input of a guide. Theorizing that it would be a very open space with little distraction, he was not surprised to find just that. Admittedly, there were a few things he might change. He might add a bit of color here or there or some plants to make the place look less antiseptic and he might not leave the walls a stark white but, for the most part, it was nice space for a sentinel. Blair found the balcony was particularly nice since it looked out on the bay. He was about to comment on that when Jim called out, “Want some coffee, Sandburg?”

“Sure,” Blair walked over to the kitchen area as Jim started the pot. “This is a nice place,” he complimented and Jim glanced around, his eyes taking in his territory.

“I bought it when my 18 months of back pay came through from the army. It seemed to make more sense than renting. When I married Carolyn, she moved in with me but when we got divorced I kept the loft. Carolyn wasn’t the sweetest person but she was fair. We agreed before getting married to keep our assets separate and, when we divorced, she kept her word and made no claims on my assets.”

“How long were you married?”

“Two years,” Jim shrugged. “We were better as friends- still are. I care about her, she cares about me but we both live separate and busy lives,” Jim answered, handing Blair coffee and indicating he should have a seat at the table. “So, where do you want to start?” Jim asked.

“Peru. Do you mind if I take some notes?” Blair asked, pulling out a pad of paper and Jim waved a hand. “You said you came online in Peru?”

“Yeah, I did. After the crash I was the only one of my team left alive and I wasn’t in great shape myself. I was alone for three days, living on the water and rations we had brought. I probably would have died if the Chopec hadn’t come by and taken me in. They helped me bury my men and then Incacha, that was the tribe’s shaman, he took care of me until I was well. He understood the whole sentinel thing and recognized that I was a sentinel. He helped me use my senses so I could hunt with the tribe and eventually lead the warriors into battle against the drug runners. I was able to hear them coming and we got the drop on them, keeping the Chopec Pass clear of drug runners and the tribe safe.”

“It’s not uncommon for sentinels to come online when they are isolated,” Blair said, his voice gentle. He could hear the pain Jim’s voice when he discussed the mission. “How did he help you?” 

Jim looked off into the distance for one moment, remembering Incacha. “He showed me how to control my senses, raise them up when I need them, lower them when I don’t. And, when I was getting ready to leave, he told me to keep them down so I could function in the city until I found my true guide.”

“Keep them down?” Blair asked and Jim nodded. 

“Well, I couldn’t really use them if I wanted to stay away from the SCC. It’s obvious I needed a guide when I got hit by the pesticide or wanted to use them the way I did today, but something like that doesn’t happen normally. It was a tradeoff, Sandburg: use them and end up in the SCC where I’d probably never have an opportunity to become a detective because I would have to work with my chosen guardian, or block them and live a normal life - without the senses.”

“In other words, our guard…guides are not trained properly,” Blair surmised quietly, considering the kinds of changes the SCC would need to make if they were to help sentinels like Jim.

“I think that covers it,” Jim agreed.

“Can anyone be trained as a guide?”

“As a general guide to a sentinel, yes, but as a true guide, one that shares a bond with the sentinel, no.”

“We don’t have a lot of bonded pairs,” Blair admitted. “We know when a pair bonds the sentinel’s abilities become stronger, but not what causes a bond.”

“Your bonded pairs I’m sure act nothing like Monroe in Forensics. They don’t consider themselves guardians and wards; they are partners in all things.”

“I get that,” Blair agreed. “But how can the SCC find a sentinel’s true guide?”

“I don’t think they can,” Jim admitted. “I think the SCC should supply trained interim guides who can support sentinels when they use their senses, but they should not control the sentinels’ lives; not in civilian life and not in the armed forces.”

Blair couldn’t help but agree as he looked over his notes. “How did Incacha teach you to control your senses when you are without a guide? If we could train our guides to help sentinels control their senses we could make a lot of changes to sentinels’ daily lives.”

“Before I can answer, let me ask you a question. How do you teach guardians to help sentinels control their senses?” 

“We have the guardians keep in physical contact with their sentinels while using their senses. Sentinels say that hearing and feeling their guardians’ heartbeats help them to focus without zoning. They say the same about the spikes - the physical contact helps them relax after a spike.”

“Okay, I guess that does make sense,” Jim answered. “That was how Incacha and I started too. But Incacha recognized a sentinel has to be able to function away from his guide if he is going to have a life and so, once I learned to control the senses with Incacha’s help, he started teaching me how to control them without a guide’s help.”

“How?” 

“He had me set a control for each sense and taught me how to raise and lower the control. He worked with each sense, one at a time, teaching me to raise them and lower them.”

“Like a dial?” Blair asked.

“Exactly,” Jim nodded. “And once you can raise and lower your senses, you can, for the most part, function in everyday life.”

“Did it take long to learn the control?”

“About six months,” Jim answered. “Incacha was a good teacher. He didn’t push the training constantly but worked with me daily to ensure I could handle my senses.”

“But you did spike and you needed my help when you had to take out the robber.”

“I didn’t say a sentinel doesn’t need a guide. I said a sentinel doesn’t need a guardian. In the course of a regular day, a sentinel can use his senses the way anyone else does. But when he does need to focus on one sense to the exclusion of all others, he needs a guide. And for the occasional spike, he needs a guide to help him regain control of his senses.”

“How did you fake the tests at the SCC?”

“That was easy. I set the senses low and kept them there. Because you were testing one sense at a time, it was fairly easy to do.” Jim took a sip of his coffee and glanced at Blair. “What now?”

“What now?” Blair repeated the question and looked into his coffee cup. “I have to find a way to make changes in the SCC. I’m sure it will not be easy, but I have two aces up my sleeve.”

“Two aces?”

“Naomi and Dr. Eli Stoddard.” At Jim’s puzzled look, Blair explained. “Dr. Eli Stoddard is the leader in the field of anthropology. If I can get him to help declare that the SCC practices need to be revised, it could go a long way towards changing SCC policies and procedures.”

“And Naomi?” Jim asked.

“My mom. She’s big on activism. If I tell her about how sentinels are being subjugated, she will start something.”

“Both of those ideas are a good start-”

“Well,” Blair cut in. “Those will be the second and third steps. As a first step I’m going to go before the SCC admin and give my findings and recommendations. Doctor Stoddard and Naomi are steps two and three.”

Jim considered the plans for a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t think your step one will work. I can’t see the SCC wanting to make changes and I think we will need a step four. If we really want change, we have to get the media behind us. I think people need to know the truth, not the bull the SCC publishes.”

“The media,” Blair nodded. “I suppose we could get an exposé on sentinels’ lives. It would be good PR for our side. We could highlight the Forensics team and maybe a few other dysfunctional teams as well, as examples of sentinel-guardian teams that don’t work. I could talk about my experience undercover in the SCC and the rules sentinels are forced to live under.”

“And I know just the person to do it,” Jim added with a smile. “True Crime reporter Wendy Hawthorne worked with me some time back. I’m sure she’d be interested in exposing how the SCC limits sentinels.”

“I’ll start with step one Tuesday night at the SCC admin meeting. I’m making all the proposals I told you about. In the meantime, I won’t say a word about your senses, but if you need me to help you with your senses, will you call?”

“I will, Chief,” Jim answered with a smile.

...

From where he was standing before the presentation board, Blair looked around the conference table at the various SCC members. It was the first Tuesday of the month and the regular meeting included all the administrative staff. In addition to Gordy and Anya, the sentinel testing administrators and the rest of the members of the SCC were in attendance. At the head of the table sat the SCC chair, Henry Bricker and around the table Blair noted the financial officer, Donald Stubb, the public relations director, Diana James, the legal advisor, Julie Green, and the head of guardian placement, Mike Front.

In front of each member Blair had placed a report outlining his findings and his recommendations. “..So,” Blair concluded, “you can see why these modifications and regulations need to change.”

For a few moments no one spoke, people around the table eyeing each other uncomfortably, and then Bricker leaned forward. “Your suggestions would be rather expensive,” he pointed out. “I personally think we are doing a fine job as it is.”

“You’ve read through my report?” Blair challenged. 

Bricker nodded and waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, I’ve read it and, while I do agree that we must work to ensure we certify the best guardians and guards, I don’t see any reason to change the status quo. I mean, what’s to stop sentinels from leaving the building unsupervised if we leave the doors unlocked? What’s to stop them from using their money for foolish things if the guardians don’t control it? And sentinels need to work with their guardians where their guardians can control their environments. No, Blair, I don’t think we should make such drastic changes.”

“You do realize that you are turning sentinels into second-class citizens,” Blair worked to keep his voice low and calm as he glanced around looking for allies.

“In the ten years that I have been head of guardian placement,” Mike Front added in a clipped voice, “no sentinel has been physically harmed by a guardian.”

“Because you’ve made them feel powerless, so they accept that they have to obey their masters,” Blair shot back in frustration. “And that may not be physical abuse, but it sure is mental and emotional abuse,” Blair countered. “I know for a fact sentinels can control their own lives. What I said in the report is true; sentinels need guides, not guardians. I can back that statement with a great deal of support.”

“Have you thought about what we will do with the guardians?” Julie Green asked. “How do we divide up the money, property and pensions between the sentinels and guardians?”

“We divide the money, the property, everything the way we would with a divorce,” Blair answered. “After all, the sentinels have worked beside the guardians. If there are questions, your legal department can work it out.”

Turning, he glanced at Gordy and Anya in a silent plea for support and Anya, with a small nod, turned to the others. “I have been looking over the various reports, and in the majority of cases sentinels do report feeling powerless. They feel their guardians, while not abusive per se, have total control of their lives, even to the point of not being able to do things most adults take for granted.”

Gordy, feeling he had to be heard after Anya put out her comments, added, “Would it be so difficult to put lights and televisions in the sentinel rooms?”

“No, it would not,” Bricker answered. “But we don’t want to upset sentinels when they are in the sentinel rooms. You have to remember, they are unsupervised in those rooms. I wouldn’t want them zoning on lights or television or getting upset because of something they hear or see on the media.”

“It might even be a good idea to put video cameras in those rooms so we can monitor them,” Mike Front added. 

“Do you realize what you are suggesting is a total invasion of privacy?" Blair cut in. "It’s bad enough you’re making sentinels use communal showers. Sentinels are not babies in need of constant monitoring, they don’t need someone censoring what they watch or hear because it might upset them. They are just like everyone else but are being treated like small children.” Blair’s voice had been rising as he talked and, realizing this, he stopped, taking a deep breath. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate the people in the room. But glancing around again Blair realized he was the sole voice of reason at the meeting. “If you can’t make these changes,” he said softly, “than I can’t work here. I will not endorse sanctioned slavery.” Closing his computer, Blair lifted it and looked around the room. “I’ll hand in my resignation tomorrow and clear my stuff out.” 

No one replied and, without another word, Blair walked out the door.

Getting in his car, Blair took a few minutes to calm himself and then called Jim.

“Ellison,” Jim answered the phone.

“Hey, Jim, they wouldn’t listen. We have to go to steps two, three, and four.”

“I’ll call Wendy and see if we can set something up.” 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll start writing up my experiences at the SCC and see if I can get an appointment with Dr. Stoddard tomorrow. I’d like to get him to co-author an article for an anthropology journal on sentinels’ actual needs versus guardians’ control. And I’ll track down my mom tonight.”

“Hopefully, we can expose the SCC’s practices.”

“I’m sorry it has to come to this,” Blair said quietly. “But, thanks to you, I know this needs fixing.”

“You would have noticed without me, Sandburg. Maybe it would have taken a bit longer, but you would have seen what was going on sooner or later and taken steps to fix things.”

“Thanks for that,” Blair smiled. “I’ll track down my mom tonight and call you tomorrow.”

Starting his car, Blair drove home and entered his warehouse. Turning on the lights, he looked around, knowing he was, as of now, out of work. He would have to get a new job pronto if he wanted to keep a roof over his head. 

With a sigh, he picked up his phone and, dropping onto his admittedly beat-up sofa, dialed a number in California.

“Peace,” a woman answered the phone.

“Peace,” Blair repeated. “May I speak with Naomi, please?”

“Who’s calling, please?”

“Her son.”

“Blair, right?” the woman answered, cheerfully. “Your mother has told us all about you. Give me a moment and I’ll get her.”

“Thanks,” Blair waited and a minute later the phone was picked up again.

“Hello, Blair?” Blair instantly recognized his mom’s voice. 

“Hi, Naomi,” Blair answered. “How’s the commune?”

“Very peaceful,” Naomi replied. “I wish you were here with me.”

“You know I work in Cascade, Mom.”

“Yes, I know,” she sighed. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Sitting on his sofa, a few hundred miles from where his mom was currently residing, Blair wondered how she could know he needed help.

Deciding it was a mother thing, he answered, “Mom, I could use your help.”

“I can be in Cascade in a few hours,” she offered.

“I need your help but I don’t think you need to come to Cascade. I need you to help me with an injustice,” he answered and proceeded to tell her about the SCC and what he had learned about the treatment of sentinels. By the time he had finished and told her he had resigned from the SCC, Naomi was already making plans for protesting and getting her friends involved.

“Mom, I want you to hold off for just a couple of days.”

“Why? Something should be done immediately.”

“Yes, but I want to coordinate the protests. I’m going to get an article out about how the SCC misrepresents sentinels’ needs and we are going to get an exposé in the newspaper about the abuses sentinels experience in the SCC. Hopefully, we will even have an interview with a sentinel who has been living in Cascade for five years without a guardian, proving sentinels don’t need to be wards of the SCC.”

“It will take us a few days to organize things anyway,” she agreed. “When do you want to start the protests?”

“Can you hold off 'til the end of the week?”

“Of course. Do you need me to send you money?”

“No, Mom, but thanks. I’ll be in touch as soon as I get things started here.”

...

Jim was already at his desk the next morning when Blair came walking into the Major Crimes bullpen. Having no job didn’t change the fact that Blair wanted, no, if he admitted it to himself, needed to be with Jim. Despite everything, Jim was a sentinel and Blair (and he smiled as he thought this) was his guide.

“Hey Hairboy,” H called out as Blair entered and Blair waved. Since the bank robbery and the subsequent dinner, Blair found he'd been accepted by the detectives that worked most closely with Jim. 

Jim glanced up as Blair walked in, looking over the younger man with some concern. Blair had quit his job last night, something that had to be worrying him, but he didn’t look overly concerned. His eyes were still bright with curiosity as he talked with the people around him. Jim guessed he was still on the high over the idea of saving the sentinels. But Jim, a realist, knew reality would come crashing in when his bills started arriving. “I didn’t think you’d be here today,” Jim said softly for Blair’s ears only when Blair joined him, pulling over an empty chair. “I thought you might be out looking for work.” 

“I am going to have to find work,” Blair admitted. “And I’ll start looking tomorrow, but this afternoon I’m going to meet with Dr. Stoddard about the SCC. I wrote an outline for the article last night.”

“You wrote an article after the meeting last night?” Jim’s surprise made Blair chuckle.

“Well, not a full article, mostly the outline. I’m going to share it with Dr. Stoddard today. I’m hoping we can co-author it, but yeah, I pulled an all-nighter. I’m used to missing sleep, I was a student 'til not that long ago.”

“Right,” Jim nodded. “Look, Chief, if you need some help with money, let me know,” Jim offered. He hoped Blair wouldn’t take offense at the offer, but Jim wanted Blair to know he wouldn’t leave him out on a limb.

“Thanks, man. Anything you need me to help you with?”

“Not right now. I’m reviewing some cases and updating information, but maybe you can come over to my place tonight? I’m meeting Wendy Hawthorne there tonight at about eight. If you come earlier, I’ll buy some Thai food for dinner.”

“Sounds good,” Blair agreed. “I’m meeting with Dr. Stoddard at three. We should be done by five or six.”

“Good,” Jim nodded. “I’ll meet you at my place at six. Maybe you should go home and get some rest.”

Blair nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that might be a good idea. I could put some finishing touches on the article.”

Jim was going to point out that wasn’t resting but instead he shrugged. “Okay, go,” he shooed Blair off. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Right, okay, you sure you’ll be okay without me?” Blair glanced around, evaluating the environment to make sure it was safe for his sentinel.

“I’ll be fine.” He watched Blair wave to H and Rafe as Blair walked out the door. Smiling and thinking that’s my guide, Jim turned back to the computer as Simon opened his door. 

“Jim, can I see you?” 

Shutting down the system, he turned and entered Simon’s office. “Close the door,” Simon instructed, his voice grim. 

“What’s up, Sir?” Jim asked and Simon indicated he should sit before taking a seat behind his desk.

“I’ve had a call from the Commissioner. Some of the uniforms, not SWAT and not Major Crimes, have been saying that only a sentinel could have made that shot, and everyone knows you were taken to the SCC for testing.”

“Then they have to know I failed the tests,” Jim shot back. Feeling his stomach drop at the statement, Jim sighed. He had known he was outing himself when he made the shot and had accepted that it could come back to bite him in the ass. But he also knew he had to save the child.

Simon nodded. “Officially, I’ve told the Commissioner that you’ve been with Major Crimes for three years and I’ve never seen you have a problem with your senses and you’ve never said anything about being a sentinel.” Jim opened his mouth to say something but Simon held up a hand. “I’ve also mentioned you went for testing because of a severe allergic reaction to a pesticide and the SCC testers admitted that while your eyesight was unusually good they did not think you were a sentinel.

“However, there are certain PD members who will probably throw things at you to test you.”

“Who? And why?” Jim asked quietly.

“Cassie Welles down in Forensics just got her guardian certification and has been itching to get a sentinel. A detective in Major Crimes,” Simon paused and shook his head. “She’ll probably go out of her way to prove you’re a sentinel. She’d love it if you became her sentinel. From what I know, she’s always wanted to be a detective, but her asthma has kept her from qualifying. She’d see it as an opportunity to get a foot in the door.”

Jim nodded his understanding, considering the overly ambitious and, at times, obnoxious forensic expert. He had crossed swords with her several times on cases. She tended to overstep her role and she hadn’t made friends with many detectives as a result. It wasn’t that Jim didn’t think her a nice person, certainly she was pretty to look at, but she walked all over people. “Anyone else?” Jim asked.

“Not that I can think of at the moment. What about Sandburg?”

“He quit working for the SCC when they didn’t listen to his ideas for reform. He is going to go public about the SCC’s practices. I think he’s planning a multiple-front assault.”

“Good, it’s about time they owned up to their misdeeds. In the meantime, watch out around Welles.”

“Thanks, Sir,” Jim rose and headed out of the office, stopping some feet from his desk when he saw Cassie Welles standing near it.

In the jungles of Peru, Jim had seen animals hunting prey and once he’d seen a barracuda go after another sea creature. None looked quite as hungry or as determined as Cassie looked standing by the desk. Taking a deep breath, Jim walked over. “Cassie,” he acknowledged as he tried to move around her.

“Hi Jim. Rumor has it you’re a sentinel.”

“You shouldn’t listen to rumors, Cassie, I’m not a sentinel.”

Totally ignoring Jim’s statement, Cassie continued, “I’ve just received my guardian certification, so you would still be able to work for the PD…with me. I know most sentinels don’t want guardians, but sentinels need someone to look after them.” She reached out to pat Jim’s arm like he was some kind of pet.

“I’m sure you will make someone a great guardian,” Jim answered, pulling his arm back. “But as I’ve already said, I’m not a sentinel.”

“No one but a sentinel could have made the shot you made,” she challenged, her voice rising. “And you had that reaction to the pesticide.”

“Look, Welles,” Jim loomed over Cassie, making her take a step back. “I’ve been tested twice by the SCC and they say I’m not a sentinel, so why don’t you run back to Forensics so I can do my work.”

“Fine, don’t admit you’re a sentinel. But your senses will give you away, eventually,” she huffed. She opened her mouth to say something else but, at the angry look on Jim’s face, closed it and, turning on her heel, stalked off.

“That went well,” Rafe said softly from behind him.

Jim turned and nodded. “Cassie can be a she-devil, that’s for sure,” Jim agreed.

“Steer clear of her,” Rafe advised. “She might try and prove you’re a sentinel.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed as he moved back to his desk.

At 5:30, Jim called in a pick-up order for Thai and knocked on Simon’s door. “Sir, I’m going to head out.”

“Everything okay?” Simon asked and Jim nodded.

“Yeah, Welles did offer to be my guardian. Lord help the sentinel who has her as a guardian. She’d be overbearing and treat her sentinel like a five-year-old.”

In agreement, Simon waved Jim off and Jim headed for the Thai Palace to pick up food. 

Blair was waiting near the entrance to 852 Prospect when Jim pulled up. Grabbing one of the bags of food, he followed Jim up to Jim’s condo. Putting the food down on the table, Jim moved to grab dishes and serving utensils as Blair set the food out.

“Wendy Hawthorne will be here around seven,” Jim informed Blair as they took seats at the table. “How did things go for you?”

“Eli loved the idea of us doing an article. When I told him what was going on with the SCC, he said he would do whatever was necessary to get the article not only published, but spotlighted. I also told him about the interview, so after we finished writing the article, he started calling around to get it out this week.”

“Good. And your mom?” Jim asked.

“She’s getting protesters ready. She’s always been a social activist. Believe me, Naomi will not let this injustice go. Everything okay with you today? You didn’t have any problems with your senses?”

“No, I keep them down most of the time. Of course, there are rumors all over the PD that I'm a sentinel. Cassie Welles came to see me about it.”

“Cassie Welles?”

“She’s in Forensics and a wannabe detective. She just got certification as a guardian and wanted to offer her services.”

Blair glanced down at his food with something akin to anger. While the anger surprised him, he couldn’t help but feel Jim was his sentinel and he didn’t like the idea of anyone else coming forward to claim him. “Was…that…was she a problem?” he asked quietly.

“No, I sent her packing. Cassie would be the last person I would choose for a guide. She’s very pretty and very intelligent but I can’t see anyone wanting to be her ward.”

Hiding a smile of relief, Blair looked up and reached for the Pad See Ew. “Hopefully, no sentinel will need a guardian soon.”

At precisely seven there was a knock on Jim’s door. “Ready?” Jim asked and Blair nodded as Jim went over and opened the door. “Hello, Wendy,” he invited her in. “This is Blair. Blair, Wendy Hawthorne.”

Blair smiled at the woman as Jim led her to the living room and offered her a seat. “Can I get you anything, some coffee maybe?” he offered.

“No, thank you,” she smiled and placed a tape recorder on the table before pulling out a notepad.

“Before we start,” Jim said with a glance at Blair, “I want assurance that you will keep your sources secret for, a least, certain portions of what you will hear.”

“It would be investigative suicide if I didn’t agree to keep certain things confidential. Yes, if I need to keep sources secret, I will.”

Jim nodded and turned to Blair. “You’re up first, Chief.”

Two hours later, Wendy, Jim and Blair sat sipping coffee, the interview process over. “I’ll have Blair’s experience as a sentinel at the SCC in print with our station’s sister publication on Friday. And Jim, I will never mention your name when I supplement the article with information about a sentinel who has lived and worked successfully in Cascade for five years without a guardian. It will go a ways toward proving the SCC is, in fact, overbearing and unnecessarily controlling. And having the anthropology article about the historical role of sentinels’ companions come out at the same time is perfect. I’ll spend part of tomorrow interviewing other sentinels and guardians as background info. 

“The information about how to reform the process, the idea of guides rather than guardians, Blair, I might want you to look over that piece before it prints on Friday.”

“I’d be happy to,” Blair answered.

“Let’s meet tomorrow night and I’ll have copies of what’s going out on Friday for you to see.”

…

It was just before five o’clock on Friday afternoon when SCC Chair Henry Bricker burst into the SCC public relations office and threw a newspaper down on Diana James’ desk. “Have you seen this?” he demanded, his voice caught somewhere between anger and panic.

A phone to her ear, Diana nodded and held up a hand. Quickly finishing her call, she turned to Bricker. “I saw it a few minutes ago. I’m trying to get some information about it.”

“An exposé on the SCC that makes us sound like slave traders,” Director Bricker yelled, his face turning near purple. 

“Calm down,” Diana snapped and then, remembering this was her boss, brought her tone back down to normal. “We cannot be seen panicking over this article.”

“The various wire services picked up the story and it’s being reported all over the country. There are already cries for investigations and reforms. Various legal agencies are offering up their departments for the use of sentinels. Sandburg did this,” he muttered.

“Sandburg definitely played a part in this,” James agreed. “His exposé about his night as a sentinel in the SCC was definitely a part of this. I’ve also found out that the article Wendy Hawthorne references on the historical role of a companion to a sentinel was written by Blair Sandburg and Dr. Eli Stoddard, the foremost anthropologist in the country.”

“What are we going to do?” Bricker asked. 

“I would imagine right now all the SCC Institutes across the country are rethinking their policies. I think we have to do the same. Remember we have an advantage, we have Sandburg’s original suggestions.”

“What about this sentinel who lived for five years without a guardian? Should we insist that he be turned over to the SCC?”

James looked at Bricker as though he were nuts. “I think we need to focus on what we can do to improve things, not continue as things are, that is, if we want to keep our jobs.” She reached down and handed him a typed page. “This is what we need to put out. What it says is that we will be working with all the other SCC institutes to review and reform sentinel rules.”

As Bricker read over the release, Diana turned on the television to the five o’clock news. After the initial overview of the news, Wendy Hawthorne came on and began to talk about her exposé, focusing on the SCC’s policies. She spoke at length about various sentinel pairs where it was obvious the sentinel did not have an equal partnership and, finally, discussed an interview she had with a successful sentinel-guardian pair. What both the sentinel and guardian said was that decisions were not made by the guardian but worked out with each having an equal say.

“Wendy,” the news anchor asked, “The doctor you interviewed, Blair Sandburg, you said he worked for the SCC?”

“He did,” she agreed, “for two months and then tried to institute reforms. When his suggestions were dismissed, he quit and contacted me to expose the abuses.”

“Have you spoken to SCC officials about these allegations?” the anchor asked.

“I did reach out to their central office in Washington D.C., but no one has gotten back to me yet.”

“And, Wendy, what about the sentinel who has been living for five years without a guardian?”

“What about him?”

“Who is he?” the anchor asked.

“I promised to keep his name out of this. He doesn’t want to suddenly lose his rights. But I think it is important to note that he didn’t need a guardian.”

“And the guide thing?” the anchor asked.

Wendy nodded. “That’s the most important part of this exposé. It seems that sentinels need companions: guides, not guardians. It’s how sentinels functioned in tribal cultures. And these guides need training so they, in turn, can teach sentinels how to control their senses.”

“But living in a city,” the anchor asked, “Doesn’t that make it harder for sentinels?”

“Yes, but with the right training and support from a trained guide, sentinels can live full, independent lives. From what I understand, it’s not even necessary for a guide to live with his sentinel. It’s better if he does, but as long as he lives near and is ready to support the sentinel, sentinels can live on their own, they can handle their own finances and work where they choose.”

“I’m sure guardians, sentinels and the general public will find this information interesting.” The anchor turned and looked into the camera. “Remember, tonight will be the interview with Dr. Sandburg and Dr. Stoddard. Thank you Wendy.”

Turning off the television, Diana turned back to Bricker. “We should try and get Sandburg back on staff. It would show we are trying to reform the system.”

“I don’t want him back on staff. If he had kept his mouth shut, we could have just continued on.”

“There won’t be any just continuing on after this,” she predicted.

As Diana James made her prediction, across town Cassie Welles turned off the television. Having just gotten her guardian certification, she knew the upcoming changes could conceivably keep her from getting a sentinel. 

She had taken the required guardian classes for the last year, spending three nights a week learning how to feed, dress and house sentinels, how to care for them medically, how to identify environmental dangers and emotional stress that could impair their abilities. Her hopes had always been to get a sentinel in Forensics and then work as an adjunct PD investigator.

It seemed like every one of her dreams would come true when she heard the rumor that Jim Ellison was a sentinel. A detective in Major Crimes, she would allow him to work investigations at her side. But he insisted the rumor wasn’t true, dashing her hopes.

The rumor had started when he had been taken to the SCC after having a reaction to a pesticide and had been further fueled first by the arrival of a SCC administrator and then the near impossible shot Jim had made at the bank. But, despite the evidence, Cassie came back to the same inevitable fact: the SCC testing had shown he wasn’t a sentinel.

Almost as an after-thought, she wondered if someone could fool the SCC testers. She’d never heard of such a thing but… she glanced at the television. What was it the interviewer had said, a sentinel who had hidden his abilities for five years? Jim had been with the PD for five years, ever since his discharge from the army. Maybe, just maybe, Jim could be a sentinel in hiding.

Tapping her fingers on the table, she wondered if there might be a way to prove Jim Ellison was a sentinel. She couldn’t do anything dangerous but she did, thanks to her training as a guardian, know how to deal with spikes and zones. If she could zone or spike Jim, that would prove him a sentinel and she could become his guardian or, what was it, the new term? His Guide.

…

Monday morning, Jim walked into the bullpen and waved to H and Rafe before walking over to his desk. He expected Blair soon; the young man was going to meet him at the station. Blair was still unemployed but job offers had been coming in. Rainier was offering him a position as an anthropology professor, the central office of the SCC in Washington D.C. had offered him a position as a consultant and several watchdog legal groups had offered him positions. Since the broadcast, Blair had been the subject of multiple interviews along with Eli Stoddard. Of course, there was also continued requests for information about the “Stealthy Sentinel” (as Jim had been dubbed), but Wendy Hawthorne was as good as her word and refused to name her source.

He was about to sit down when he noticed someone had been at his desk. He knew he was a bit anal about his desk and how and where things were kept and he could easily tell things had been moved around. He also noted there was a funny smell coming from the drawer. Taking a step back, he studied the desk for a moment. He had heard a lot of speculation from various members of the PD that he was the Stealthy Sentinel; a few officers had even asked him. While SWAT and Major Crimes personnel knew the answer, he speculated there might be others who would go out of their way to prove he was the Stealthy Sentinel just so they could get fifteen minutes of fame. 

Instead of sitting down, acting as if he hadn’t noticed anything was wrong, he walked over to H’s desk. “Hey, man,” H looked up. 

“H, has anyone been up here at my desk?” he asked quietly.

“Not that I’ve noticed,” H answered. 

“Welles was up here a bit ago dropping off files, you could ask her if she saw anyone,” Rafe added.

“Was she near my desk?”

“I didn’t see her near it,” Rafe paused and frowned. “But she was already here when I walked in and she was acting weird.”

“She’s in the break room right now. You could ask…” H paused. “You think she did something to prove you’re a sentinel and is waiting in the break room for you to react?” he asked quietly and Jim nodded.

“Something's in my desk,” he confirmed.

“Let me take a look,” H offered, walking over to Jim's desk and opening the drawer. Inside, at the back of the drawer, scattered over everything, he found herbs that smelled like sage. Closing the drawer, he turned back to Jim. “I think it’s sage. What do you want to do?”

“Let’s let Cassie hang herself. We’ll leave the sage.”

“Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, now that I know what’s there, I can handle it.” Jim walked over and took a seat at his desk and then turned to H. “Why don’t you have her come back in and let her see me at my desk?”

“Sure thing, Jim,” H gave a conspiratorial wink before picking up a coffee cup and heading out of the room.

Entering the break room, H walked over to the coffee pot and glanced at the half-full pot with distaste. “Man, this stuff is bad,” he complained as he poured some of the liquid into the cup. Turning, he glanced at Cassie, sitting at the lunch table, a file in front of her. “Is coffee better in Forensics?” he asked Cassie and she glanced up and shook her head. 

H nodded as he turned toward the door. “I was just telling Ellison that somewhere else in this building should have better coffee and I need to find where that place is.”

“Jim’s here?” she asked, standing.

“Yeah, he just got here,” H watched her lift the folder and quickly pass him as she made her way into Major Crimes, H following.

Just inside the door she stopped, H beside her as Jim took a seat at his desk. “Good morning, Jim,” she said quietly and waved her file in the air. “I wanted to see your notes on the Compton case, if you don’t mind,” she requested.

“The Compton case,” Jim repeated and opened the desk drawer the sage all over the files flying about. “What the hell?” Jim complained as he pulled out folders and began shaking off sage, the herb flying all over the desk, Jim and into the air. “H, what the hell did you put in my desk?” he called out, his voice sounding more like a growl than anything else.

“Not me, Babe,” H walked over as Cassie stood still, her mouth open, watching sage cover Jim. 

“You…you should be having a reaction,” she complained and Jim glanced at her.

“You put sage in my desk drawer?” he stood and glared at her.

“You’re a sentinel, you should be reacting to the sage. I,” she stopped as she realized she had just given herself away.

“Look, Welles,” Jim stood and, walking over, glared down at her, using his larger size to intimidate her. He was gratified to see it was working when she took a step back. “Even if I had to choose a guardian, which thankfully I don’t, I would never choose you. Now, get my desk cleaned up and then get out of Major Crimes and stay out.” Jim’s voice had been rising the entire time he was speaking and as he finished all eyes were on Cassie’s pale face.

“What’s going on?” Simon practically roared as he entered the bullpen.

“Go ahead, Welles,” Jim answered, his eyes never leaving her face. “Tell the captain how you poured sage all over my desk hoping I would zone or spike.”

Simon glanced at Jim and then at the desk. “Welles?” he asked, his voice stern as Cassie turned while fumbling in her pocket. Pulling out an inhaler, her hands shaking, she took a puff of medicine before turning to Simon.

“Captain Banks, I…I wanted to prove Jim was a sentinel so I could help him.”

Simon’s eyes traveled to Jim’s and then he turned back to her. “Have you heard the news lately?” he asked in a soft voice continuing before she could answer. “The SCC is being accused of controlling sentinels and treating them as second-class citizens, stripping them of their rights. We’ve already heard the SCC will be undergoing reorganization and policy change. With that going on, you’d want to throw one of MY detectives into that mess and, on top of that, harm him to prove your point?”

Cassie went to answer, but Simon held up a hand. “And, assuming Jim is the sentinel who has been working for five years without a guardian, not that I’m saying he is, but assuming he is, why would he need a guardian?”

“I’ve worked so hard,” she said in voice that trembled with emotion. “Classes three times a week, it was my chance to work with detectives.”

“So, this was about you and your needs?” Simon clarified and indicated Jim’s desk. “Clean it up,” he commanded in a voice that everyone in Major Crimes knew you didn’t cross, “and then get out of Major Crimes. In the future if you need to come up here for something, you will call my secretary and let her know. And if you harass Detective Ellison again, I’ll have you brought up on charges.”

Nodding, her eyes bright with tears, she turned and moved towards Jim’s desk as Simon continued on to his office, Jim following him.

Closing the door, Simon glanced at Jim. “Everything okay?” he asked and Jim nodded.

“Her attempt to out me was amateurish at best,” Jim answered.

“I suspected she would try something. At least, we’ve dealt with it. Others may try and prove you’re the Stealthy Sentinel,” Jim winced at the title, “but when the media gets off the topic, things will get better.” As Simon said this, he dropped his coat on the desk and turned to the coffeepot. “What about this whole guide thing?” he asked.

“I’m probably the leading expert on guides in this country,” Jim admitted. He realized this sounded like a boast and quickly added, “I was trained by a guide in Peru.”

“Are you going to go public and explain the role of a guide?”

“No, not me. Sandburg will do that; he’s already halfway to becoming a decent guide. He’s got a guide’s instincts and he’s smart. He’s also contacted several shamans on reservations in the Southwest and has arranged to meet with them. He’ll work with the SCC to train guides.”

“He didn’t let grass grow under his feet,” Simon observed, sounding impressed.

“No, he didn’t,” Jim agreed with a smile. “He’s going to be working as a consultant for three different organizations and as the new oversight director for the SCC in Cascade.”

“I guess we won’t be seeing much of him in the near to come future. Any idea how this guide thing will work?”

“As near as I can tell, sentinels and guides will agree to work together – in whichever field the pairs choose. So, Joplin can choose to work with someone else, a cop or forensic specialist who is trained to support a sentinel in the field. They’ll be partners but will live separate lives.”

“What about the bonding thing?”

“Bonding will be something left up to the sentinel and guide. Bonding requires an emotional and spiritual commitment.” Seeing Simon raise an eyebrow, Jim shrugged. “I got to see the spiritual side of the sentinel world in Peru. I can’t explain it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. The closest I can come to describing it is a marriage. Find your soul mate and you’re set for life. If the sentinel and guide don’t find their soul mate, they’ll work as partners, just like any other cop pairs do.”

“And what’s going to happen with all the guardians?”

“The legal departments of the SCC are going to handle separating sentinels and guardians the way lawyers handle divorces. Assets will be divided.”

“So you’re going to need a cop guide?” Simon asked.

“Actually, I won’t,” Jim answered.

“Oh, come on, Jim. People already know you’re a sentinel. Rafe, H, and SWAT have covered for you; you are going to need a guide if you want to use those senses in the field. And before you say anything, I would very happy if you could use your senses in the field.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Jim answered with a smile. “I’ve found my guide, my soul bond guide.”

“You have? We’ll don’t keep me in the dark, who’s the guide?”

“Sandburg,” Jim answered.

“Sandburg,” Simon answered in shock. “Jim, he can’t work here. He’s not a cop and he’s got how many other jobs?”

“The only way he agreed to any of them,” Jim answered, “is if he has time to work with me when I’m using my senses in the field. To quote Sandburg,” Jim held up his hands making quote marks in the air, “My sentinel comes first.”

Simon poured some coffee and then took a seat at his desk indicating Jim should take a cup and sit. “You think he can support you while he works that many jobs at once?” 

“We’ll make it work, Sir. Remember for the past five years I’ve been working as a detective. I don’t foresee any problems. If I need to use my senses, he’ll be available.”

Simon sighed, thinking over the situation. To some extent, he knew Jim was right. The man had worked for five years without a problem, but he hadn’t used his sentinel abilities either. If he could get Sandburg on, even part-time, Major Crimes would have a sentinel. “Okay, I guess I’ll talk to the Commissioner about getting him some kind of external consultant status as well. That way, he can be on payroll when you need him and still do his other jobs. I think I can sell the idea of getting Sandburg to work with the Stealthy Sentinel, but he will need some crime scene training.”

Jim nodded his agreement and rose, heading for the office door. “Thank you, Simon,” he said and turned. “I think this will work really well.”

…

“The Commissioner said yes?” Sandburg asked that evening as they sat in a booth at Green’s Bar and Grill, sandwiches and beer before them.

“The Commissioner was very fast to say yes, with the stipulation that you pass a couple of procedural tests,” Jim answered. “He wants to be sure you can handle a crime scene.”

“I can do that,” Blair agreed and shook his head in disbelief, his long curls moving about. “Wow, yesterday I had no job and today I have four.”

“It’s not too much for you?” Jim asked.

“No, two of them are pretty much part time jobs where I can make my own hours and the SCC will let me work around your schedule. Mostly, I’ll be developing and overseeing guide training courses.”

“If they're letting you work around my schedule, they must know I’m the sentinel who has been hiding out for five years?”

Blair considered the question and then shook his head. “I’m sure Gordy and Anya know. Not that I told them,” he added quickly before adding more thoughtfully, “though I guess I sort of did. They were there when I had my tantrum and insisted you were a sentinel even though you had failed the SCC tests. But I’m sure they won’t say anything. And other than those two, no one knows at the SCC. They do know I found a sentinel living independently, but not who.”

“I guess it really doesn’t matter any longer. Between the rallies your mother has organized across the country, Wendy Hawthorne’s exposés on the deliberate inequality in sentinel and guardian partnerships, and your and Eli Stoddard’s interviews and articles, people are screaming for reform.”

“Yeah,” Blair chuckled. “Julie Green - she heads the SCC’s legal department for Cascade - must be facing a nightmare figuring how to divide sentinel-guardian assets.”

“I just hope they divide fairly,” Jim answered. “I’d hate to see guardians get the lion’s share because they took care of the sentinels.”

“I can’t see that happening,” Blair answered thoughtfully. “Not with the public watching so closely. But, just in case, I think I’ll recommend an appeals board outside of the SCC to review any complaints by sentinels or guardians that they are not being treated fairly in the separation and distribution of assets.”

Jim nodded his approval and lifted his beer glass, tilting it towards Blair’s. “To a better future for sentinels,” he toasted and Blair smiled, tapping his glass.

“What’s next?” Blair asked before taking a drink, his eyes on Jim over the rim of the glass.

“Next?” Jim asked, not understanding.

“For us?’ Blair added softly, before putting the beer down and staring at Jim.

“Us?” Jim repeated. “We do have a lot to discuss,” he admitted. “Let me start by explaining a few things I learned in Peru. Most people can be trained to be an interim guide. They can help the sentinel maintain his senses and deal with minor issues that come up. That’s the most common kind of guide and the kind your SCC will train.” 

Blair considered stopping Jim and telling him the SCC wasn’t his but decided not to interrupt. He’d been waiting as patiently as he could to learn how true guides and sentinels worked.

“But there is another kind of guide, one in a bond with the sentinel. Not anyone can be that kind of guide. The sentinel and guide have to connect on a spiritual level and join. As a result, as has been noted, the sentinel’s senses sharpen.”

“How do they connect on a spiritual level? Is it through sex?”

“No,” Jim shook his head. “The sentinel and guide’s spirit animals need to link.”

“Spirit animals?”

Jim nodded. “I’ve seen mine, mostly in Peru, but yeah. Mine is a black jaguar and yours is a wolf.”

“What?”

“Your spirit animal, it’s a wolf.”

Wide blue eyes looked over Jim thoughtfully. “How would you know that?” he challenged, at last.

“I’ve seen it,” Jim answered with a shrug.

“Where? When?” Blair demanded.

“The day you went to the SCC to investigate my claims. Your spirit animal followed you in. That was the day I knew you were my guide.”

Blair sat back, releasing a long slow breath. “That’s how you knew I was your guide?”

“Seeing the spirit animal confirmed it but I had an inkling before then. Incacha told me my guide would recognize I was a sentinel. Despite the test results, you did.”

“How do we get our spirit animals to join?” Blair asked.

“There are several ways,” Jim admitted. “Near death experiences can do it. The spirit animal gives the sentinel or guide the strength and power to bring the other back from the brink. Shared sex can do it. I’m sure there are other ways that I don’t know.”

Blair gave Jim a dazzlingly smile. “I opt for option two,” and, with a smile of his own, Jim nodded.

“Me too, but you have to know,” Jim cautioned. “Once linked there will be no other relationships. In my case, I’m older but you may still want children, a family.”

“If WE,” Blair emphasized the word, “want a family, there is a thing called sperm donations and surrogates.” As Blair said this, he reached out taking Jim’s hand. “My sentinel,” he said softly.

“My guide,” Jim answered, entwining their fingers. “We have a lot to discuss but I think we know our path.”


End file.
